Roots and Wings
by razztaztic
Summary: My version of the life Booth and Brennan built together, told in random snippets of happy, poignant, funny, fluffy stuff. My B&B Family live happily-ever-after, because that's what makes me happy. Rated T because I occasionally have a potty mouth.
1. Roots and Wings

_AN: A group of us had a bit of a trip down memory lane last night. There was wine and country music and photo albums, with more than a few tears and a lot of Kleenex while we all agreed that time needs to slow the fuck down. How is it possible that one moment you're changing diapers and the next day, you're handing over the keys to your car or taking a kid to college? It's just wrong._

_(Alanna1231 told me that she gives a soundtrack to her favorite fanfics. If there's one for this story, it's Trace Adkins _And Then They Do_.)_

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The three of them struggled into the small room under the weight of a mountain of baggage.

"Did you pack everything you owned," Booth grumbled as he allowed the crate he held to drop with a thud, "or just the heaviest books you could find?"

Christine wiped sweat from her brow and laughed as she collapsed to the floor. "I think that one's just shoes, Dad."

"Shoes." Bent over, hands on his knees, he looked at his daughter and frowned. "Of course it's shoes," he muttered. "You and your mother and shoes." He shoved aside two suitcases and a backpack and sank down with a huff in the small space he'd managed to clear on the bed. "I've got five pair of shoes and I do fine."

Christine and Brennan shared a look filled with feminine amusement. "You have more than five pair of shoes, Booth," Brennan corrected him.

"The point is," he shot back, "I don't have enough shoes to fill a 100 lb box! Don't even say it!" He waved a finger at Brennan when she turned to appraise the container. "Anyway," he continued, obviously in the mood to be cantankerous, "What are you going to do with all of those shoes?" He waved a hand around the small dorm. "Where are you going to put 'em?"

Christine just shrugged. "I'll figure something out."

"I still don't know why you couldn't go to Georgetown and live at home, like Zach." Booth crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his baby girl. "Then all these shoes could have stayed in your room, where they belong."

"Because he's 14!" Christine retorted. "Dad!"

"Booth." Brennan laid a quiet hand on his shoulder. When he looked up at her, she saw in his brown eyes the same touch of pain and bittersweet pride that made her own breathing difficult.

"Well, she could have," he pouted briefly. "Okay." He swallowed over the lump in his throat and stood up. "One more trip ought to do it." Because he could and because he could already feel her absence breaking his heart, he put his arm around Christine and tugged her into his side. "I love you, baby," he whispered around the kiss he pressed into her hair.

She bumped him with her shoulder and kept her eyes on her feet. Her parents weren't the only ones feeling the emotional weight of the moment. "I love you, too, Dad."

They stepped out into the crowded hallway and were immediately distracted by the loud, noisy bustle of move-in day. Adults and teens alike clogged the space, laughing and grumbling and cursing as a semester's worth of absolute necessities were transferred from vehicles to rooms. Christine's eager, excited glance searched out every detail and more than once, she noticed a parent or student shrink away from them. It took a moment before she recognized the cause.

"Dad," she hissed, "do you have to have your weapons on you?" She was so used to seeing her father armed that she hadn't paid any attention to the shoulder holsters before that moment.

Booth's narrowed eyes pierced a young man leaning in a doorway who cast an appreciative eye over Christine as they passed by. The boy took one look at Booth and quickly ducked back inside his room.

"Yes, I do," he growled.

Christine rolled her eyes and stomped ahead of them. Brennan, wisely, said nothing.

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One more trip and the car was empty and Christine's room looked as if a small department store had exploded inside. The bedding was located and fitted and as many clothes as would fit inside the small closet were hung in place but finally, there were no more excuses for her parents to stay. She knew it and they knew it but no one wanted to be the first to acknowledge it out loud.

Booth needed a moment alone to compose himself before saying goodbye and took advantage of a few seconds of silence to grab for it. "I'll just look through the car one more time," he said before he escaped. "Make sure we didn't miss anything."

Brennan and Christine were left alone.

"Mom-"

"I have something for you." Her movements somewhat stiff and awkward, Brennan reached for her bag.

"For me?" Surprised, Christine smiled as her mother placed a small, square white box in her hand. "What . . ." She gasped in surprise at the familiar blue and white figure. "Mom - you're giving me Brainy Smurf?"

"Yes," Brennan nodded, her jaw tight with the effort to keep her emotions under control. "Your father . . ." She took a deep breath and began again. "Your father gave that to me once as . . . as a reminder to appreciate who I was, instead of wishing to be something else." She blinked rapidly and tried to remain calm. "I want you to have it, for the same reason."

"Mom . . ." Christine's face crumpled as she began to cry.

"I am very proud of you, Christine." Brennan's voice fractured. "You are very bright and I know," she sniffed, "I know that you will use your brain and make wise decisions." She swiped at her cheeks as her attempt to hold back tears failed. "But I also hope that . . ." She paused for a moment and struggled for the right words. "I hope that you will not be afraid to listen to your heart." She found it harder and harder to speak clearly. "It took me too long to learn that lesson and . . . and I don't want . . . I hope it doesn't take you . . . I hope it's easier for you . . ." Brennan shook her head and cried along with her daughter. "I'm sorry, I'm not doing this very well-"

"You're doing just fine," Christine wailed and threw herself, sobbing, into Brennan's arms. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too," Brennan whispered. Her hand was shaking as she brushed it over her child's dark hair and wet cheeks. "You are very special to me, Christine. When you were born," the smile she attempted was watery and lopsided, "your father and I, we weren't just two people anymore. You made us a family." Christine buried her face in her mother's shoulder. "We will always be here for you."

Booth's long arms surrounded their embrace as he rejoined them. "Always, sweetheart," he agreed, with a kiss on the top of his daughter's head. "Home is always waiting for you," he promised thickly. "Your mom and I, we're just a phone call away, day or night."

She released Brennan and clutched at Booth. "Daddy," she sobbed. "I love you."

He pushed her head back and cradled her face within his hands. "It's not too late, baby girl," he offered, only half-joking. "I can put everything back in the car - I bet you can still get into Georgetown." He smiled at Brennan with eyes as wet as hers. "Your mother can buy them a building or something."

Christine sniffed and laughed and shook her head. "Dad."

He pulled her to him and hugged her tight. "You'll be fine, honey, I know you will. Promise me, though," he added, holding her gaze intently. "Be smart. Be safe."

"I will," she nodded.

A tentative knock on the door had the three of them turning around together. A young blonde-haired girl stood just inside the room, smiling uncertainly.

"I'm sorry," she hesitated, "I don't mean to interrupt . . ." She came in a bit further. "I'm the RA for this floor . . ." She stuck her hand out first at Booth, then Brennan, then Christine. "I'm Temperance Carter," she introduced herself. "Tempe, I mean," she laughed self-consciously. "You can call me Tempe."

The Booth family exchanged an incredulous glance. "I'm sorry," Booth said first. "What did you say?"

The girl rolled her eyes and chuckled ruefully. "Yea, I get that a lot," she shrugged. "My mom named me after her favorite writer. It's unusual, I know, but . . ." She tossed a glance toward the open door, then leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "It could be worse," she whispered. "There's a sophomore on the 4th floor, her name is Renessmee." She pulled a face and shuddered.

"Anyway," she continued, "the RAs, we're taking the freshmen out for pizza, to the Green Pony, just off campus. It helps to stay busy the first night," she explained sympathetically to Christine. "If you want to come with us, you're welcome." She glanced briefly at Booth and Brennan. "After your folks leave, I mean."

"We were just about to get on the road," Booth obligingly spoke up and breathed over the fist that closed around his heart. "We've got a long drive ahead of us."

Brennan clutched at his hand. "Yes," she nodded, swallowing past the fresh bout of tears that threatened. "Yes, we were just preparing to leave."

"Okay," the RA said cheerfully. "Well, it was nice to meet you and I'll see you-" Her pause was deliberate.

Christine rushed to introduce herself. "Christine. I'm Christine Booth."

"Christine," the girl repeated. "I'll come get you when we're ready to go." She waved goodbye and left the room.

When they were alone again, she looked at her parents. "Well, that's just weird," she asserted.

Booth laughed. "It's fate." He pulled her in for another hug. "Call us, honey, anytime, if you need anything."

"I will, Dad," she nodded. He kissed her and passed her into Brennan's arms.

"I love you, Christine."

"I love you, Mom." They held each other for several minutes before Brennan forced herself to back away.

"Call us," she insisted.

"I will," Christine promised.

Knowing no one wanted to say goodbye, Booth deliberately tugged Brennan to the door. They stopped and looked back one last time at the little girl who had somehow managed to grow up in the blink of an eye.

She held up the tiny blue figure. "I love you guys," she whispered again.

"We love you," Booth said again. "Call," he ordered. When she nodded, he pulled Brennan out into the hallway.

They made their way to the car and once inside, sat for several more minutes. Somehow, driving away seemed so final.

Brennan broke the silence.

"'She'll be alright?" Her eyes were on the simple brick building in front of them.

Booth nodded. "She'll be fine."

She took a deep breath. "She will call, won't she?"

Booth's head dipped. "Yea." He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Not as much as we want her to, though."

Brennan nodded and a few minutes later, the car backed out of the parking space.

He kept her hand in his, his thumb absently stroking her palm as they traveled for several miles without speaking. When Brennan released a heavy sigh, he looked over.

"You okay?"

"Regarding Christine?"

"Yea."

"I think so," she answered. "I'm sad," she hurried to add. "I'm going to miss her. I suddenly feel as if time passed by too quickly."

"It has a way of doing that," Booth laughed. "Weren't we just changing her diaper a few weeks ago?" he joked.

"I recognize the exaggeration but . . ." Her eyes filled again. "Yes," she sniffed. "I think we were."

The West Virginia countryside sped by. When Booth looked over again, Brennan's brow was furrowed.

"What?" he asked curiously.

She hesitated. "You're going to think I'm silly."

"Tell me anyway," he insisted gently. When she remained silent, his eyes sharpened. "You . . ." He coughed and shifted in his seat. "You don't want another baby, do you?"

"What?" Shocked, her head swiveled toward him. "No!" she insisted. "No, I wasn't . . . do you?" she asked uncertainly.

"No." Booth shook his head immediately. "No. I mean, Zach is still at home, right?" His gaze traveled between her and the road. "Besides, we're too old for that now."

"Well," Brennan responded, "I'm still menstruating so . . ." Her words trailed off at Booth's somewhat panicked gaze. "No," she reassured him again. "That's not . . . I wasn't thinking of having another child."

"Good." Another mile or so passed before he grinned at her. "We do make pretty babies."

"We have beautiful children," she agreed, meeting his smile with one of her own. When she reached for his hand, he brought her fingers to his lips.

"So what was the silly thought?" he asked.

"Oh." She looked away from him. "I'm . . . unhappy sharing my name with a stranger," she mumbled. When he chuckled, she grimaced. "I knew you would laugh."

"You know," he offered helpfully, his dark eyes teasing and playful, "there's only one Bones."

She considered his words thoughtfully. "That's true," she agreed.

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_Thank you for reading!_


	2. Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

_Prompt from the Comment Fic Meme dated June, 2009: _Anonymous: Booth/Brennan shaving, as sweet or dirty as you'd like. _Since this was the "kink" meme, I can almost guarantee that this is not what the author of that prompt had in mind but I hope you enjoy it anyway. :-)_

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Booth was tucking the corner in of the towel he'd just hooked around his waist when movement caught the corner of his eye. "Hey, buddy," he smiled at his son. "Whatcha doing?"

Zach's shoulders slumped as he sighed dramatically. "Nothing." One small foot thumped against the frame of the door.

Hiding a grin, Booth wiped away steam from the bathroom mirror. "Where is everybody?"

"Well," the four-year old sneered, "Christeeeeeeen is helping Mommy get ready." He kicked the door again and pouted. "It's girl stuff."

"Oh, girl stuff." Booth rubbed at his wet hair with another, smaller towel. "That's heavy duty secret stuff, you know."

"It is?" Zach watched his father carefully.

"Yea," he nodded wisely. "Maybe you better stay in here with me and help me do man things."

"Okay!" The little boy hopped into the bathroom and propped his elbows on the counter beside Booth. "Why does Mommy get the big bathroom?"

"Well," Booth shrugged, "she's got more to do. She needs the room."

"Cause she's a girl?"

Booth looked over his shoulder, into the hallway outside the bathroom. "Yes, because she's a girl." He leaned over to whisper in his son's ear. "But don't tell her I said that - that's man talk." He held out his fist and made a serious face when Zach bumped it with his own, much smaller hand.

"Deal!" He propped his chin up. "Why are you taking two baths today? Because Mommy gots a thing?"

"Because Mommy _has _a thing," Booth corrected automatically. "And yes, that's why."

"And Max is coming? Because you're going to Mommy's thing?"

"Yep," Booth nodded. "I have to keep an eye on her so she doesn't get in trouble."

"Mommy doesn't get in trouble!" Zach scoffed.

"Who told you that?" Booth laughed.

"Mommy did!"

"Well, I think Mommy has forgotten all the trouble she's been in."

"Is she going in time-out?" Zach's eyes went wide at the prospect.

Booth tapped the little nose. "She just might have to if she keeps telling whoppers like that."

"How much longer till Max gets here?" Zach jumped up and down on his toes.

"About thirty minutes." He opened a drawer and removed a box of dental floss.

"Okay." The dark head bobbed as he watched his father measure out a length of the narrow string. "I gotta show him how fast I am now!"

Booth paused, thumbs at his mouth. "Fast at what?" he asked suspiciously.

"Opening the door." Zach fiddled with the extra packages of toothbrushes and toothpaste in the drawer Booth had left open. "I can beat Christine!"

Booth's teeth clicked together. "I'm going to . . ." He cut off the words abruptly and shook his head.

"Want me to teach you how, Daddy?" his son asked innocently. "It's easy!"

Unable to resist, Booth chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair. "That's alright, son. I'll talk to your grandpa myself."

"Okay. What's that?" He gestured to the can Booth now held.

"Shaving cream." Booth caught the curious gleam in the smaller version of his own dark eyes. "Want some?"

"Yea!"

Laughing, Booth lifted the boy to a seat on the counter. "Hold out your hand," he instructed and when the small palm was open in front of him, squeezed out a compact dollop. "Rub it across your face, like this." He demonstrated on his own cheeks. "Don't get it in your nose!" While Zach made faces at himself in the mirror, Booth picked up an extra razor, made sure it was empty of blades and clicked the cover into place. He handed it to his son and picked up his own. "Now, do this . . ."

The little boy imitated his father's slow swipe down one cheek. "Like that?"

"Yep." Booth turned on the water and they both rinsed away shaving cream from their razors. "Now stretch your neck high," he said, "and get underneath your jaw."

"Mommy says that's my manible," Zach very carefully followed his father's every move.

"Mandible," Booth corrected.

"Mandible," Zach parroted dutifully. "Can Parker do this?"

"Sure," Booth nodded. "I taught him just like I'm teaching you."

Zach played with the razor beneath the water while the threads of shaving cream still left on his face began to dry. "How come Parker gots a different . . ." He stopped and started again. "How come Parker has a different mommy?"

Booth froze, surprised. "Well," his mind worked rapidly, "I didn't know your mommy back then."

Water splashed up around the sink as Zach played with the razor. "Miss R'ecca could have been my mommy?"

"No," Booth grinned. "No, only your mommy could have been your mommy. I think we're done with the water, sport." He wiped their faces clean, set Zach on his feet and then swabbed up the counter.

Zach watched patiently. "Because Mommy's special?"

"Your mommy is very special," Booth agreed.

"She's the smartest person in the world!" Zach threw his arms out wide.

"I think she might be!" Booth chuckled as he rubbed gel into his hands and then through his hair. "Want some of this?" When Zach nodded eagerly, he swooped us his son's dark hair with one quick movement.

"I'm smart, too." The small fingers reached up to poke carefully at the newly spiked hairdo.

"Yes, you are." Booth applied deodorant and when Zach raised his own arms in expectation, lifted the boy's t-shirt and gave him a quick swipe.

"I can read!" he announced. "Jacob can't read," he added, his eyes downcast as he mentioned his best friend.

"Well, Jacob's only four," Booth pointed out as he spread the towel he'd been wearing over a rail and stepped into underwear.

"I'm four," Zach pointed out. "But I'm extranary."

His father's chuckle was audible through the t-shirt caught somewhere around his head. When he'd settled it over his shoulders, Booth picked up his son. "Extraordinary," he said. "And yes, you are, little man. Yes, you are." He carried Zach out of the bathroom. "Let's go find Mommy and tell her how pretty she is, want to?"

At that point, Brennan came out of their bedroom, still wearing a robe but with her hair and makeup done. Christine followed close behind, hints of color apparent on her eyes and lips. Brennan looked curiously at Zach's spiked hair. "What have you two been doing?" she asked.

"Man stuff." Zach answered before Booth could, and added a poke of his tongue toward his sister. "We can't tell you because you're girls."

Christine's hands immediately went to her hips. "Well, we can't tell you what we did because you're BOYS!" she sniped.

Before Zach could retort, the front door opened and a voice called up, "Hey, where is everybody?"

"MAX!" Both children yelled at once.

Zach wiggled free of Booth's hold and followed at his sister's heels in a race downstairs. "I want to tell him! I want to tell him!"

Left alone in the hallway, Booth glanced at Brennan. "Let's just let him deal with that."

"That is acceptable." She turned toward their bedroom. "Did you apply gel to Zach's hair?"

He smiled as their bedroom door closed. "That's man stuff, Bones. I'm not allowed to tell you."

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_I wanted to write one last small bit of fluff & stuff before tomorrow gets here and I dive into NaNo for a month! I'm sure I'll still manage a bit of fanfiction, since I have a couple of things in the works that I'd like to get out of my head (including *finally* finishing the next chapter of_ A Match Made in Heaven!),_ but not very many and not very often. Once December gets here, though, I have a lot lined up - including prompts for my Secret Santa that were so excellent, I'm determined to do all three! _

_Since today is October 31, Happy Halloween and safe trick-or-treating!  
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_Thanks for reading!  
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	3. In the Genes

Zach looked up when he heard the back door open and then quickly down at his feet when his father stepped outside. In a deliberately casual gesture, he stretched out his legs and crossed one ankle over the other.

Booth stood for a moment in the wedge of light coming from the kitchen and stared at the top of his son's dark head. Finally, he took a deep, silent breath and walked over to the table. He pulled out a chair and as he sat down, slid a sports drink over.

The boy lifted one eyebrow as he reached for it. "Thanks."

"Sure." Booth twisted off the cap of his beer and drank deeply. Several minutes passed in silence as they each sipped from their respective bottles before he spoke again. "Your mother told me what happened at school today."

Zach's head swiveled toward his father. "I didn't hit him."

Booth tossed the beer cap he'd been sliding between his fingers to the table. "No? He knocked himself out?"

One still narrow shoulder lifted in a shrug. "He came at me. I calculated the angle of his trajectory and at the last minute, moved aside. The force of his momentum carried him into the lockers."

"Ahhhh," Booth nodded. There was a hint of pride in the smile he sent toward his son. "Nice move," he murmured.

There was more than a hint of smugness in the 13-year old's answering grin. "I thought so." The moment of shared amusement was fleeting. Almost at the same time, they both grew somber again.

Booth pushed his chair back on two legs. "Why did he come after you in the first place?"

Zach began to peel the wrapper off the bottle he held. "I don't know," he muttered. "Because I'm smarter than he is. Younger than he is. Smaller. Because he's captain of the lacrosse team and I'm . . ." He laughed without humour. "I'm not." He hunched over the drink. "Because it's my fault his stupid, giggly girlfriend isn't going to be valedictorian after all. Who knows."

Booth watched his son carefully, concern etched on his face. The words, and the pain behind them, bruised his own heart. The chair thumped back down on all four legs. "Zach," he began, his speech halting as he struggled for the right words to comfort this child whose brilliance had pushed him into a world that left his peers behind. "I know it's hard right now-"

"Dad," Zach interrupted immediately, "if this is the every snowflake is special speech, you can stop. Mom already took care of it."

Booth frowned. "She did?"

"Well, sort of," the younger Booth answered. "I mean, she used mitochondrial DNA and genetics but . . . yea." He smiled unwillingly when Booth blew out a huff of laughter.

"Yea, that sounds more like your mother."

Zach fiddled with the scraps of paper he'd removed from his drink. "You wouldn't understand anyway."

"Maybe I would," Booth offered. He leaned forward and set his drink aside.

Zach shook his head in denial. "Come on, Dad," he scoffed. "Have you ever not been cool?" he asked pointedly. "I mean, really, in your whole life, were you ever not cool? Ever?"

Booth acknowledged his son's remark with a sigh. "I'm pretty sure I had this same conversation with your mother once," he grumbled. "Cool is relative, Zach." When the boy grimaced in response, he continued. "Look at your mom - do you think she's cool?"

Zach snorted rudely and then quickly peered over his shoulder to make sure Brennan wasn't standing in the doorway listening.

"Exactly," Booth agreed. "But she has her own standards and as far as she's concerned, she's the poster child for cool. Just ask her," he added with a grin.

Silence fell between them again before Zach shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "It's not even that, really," he muttered. He risked a hurried glance at his father. "I just . . ." His shoulders slumped. "I just . . . sometimes, I just want to be normal."

"Normal?" Booth looked at him in surprise and then, with an amused laugh, stretched one arm along the back of his child's chair. "Son, you've got a sister whose idea of a fun Friday night is spending it at target practice. Your brother," he added, "is on a stage somewhere in Europe right now. Your mother," he continued, getting warmed up, "has had three books made into movies but she's practically beside herself because some 800 year old bones were delivered to the Jeffersonian today." He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and held Zach's eyes. "Stop me when I get to normal."

Zach shrugged diffidently. "Well, there's you."

"Yea, I forgot to mention me," Booth nodded. "Let's see . . . I had a brain tumor, a serial killer locked me on a ship, your mother had to rescue me before it blew up and," his tone was almost triumphant, "one of my ancestors assassinated the president of the United States. Hell," he laughed, "I haven't even mentioned your grandparents robbing banks and living under assumed names for years." He patted his son's knee sympathetically. "Zach, son, I'm sorry but normal is not in your gene pool."

Zach picked up Booth's beer bottle and began tearing that label off, too. "I guess not," he mumbled.

Booth's expression grew serious. "Okay, yes," he admitted, "I was cool." Zach looked at him. "I was big, I played football, the other kids liked me, girls liked me - I was _cool_." His jaw clenched before he continued. "And Mom was gone and Dad slapped us around and Pops ended up raising me and Uncle Jared." Zach's gaze flickered away at the succinct recitation of the history his father rarely mentioned. "Cool was a mask," Booth continued softly. "A mask that kept people from finding out the truth." His silence drew his son's gaze back. "What's your mask, Zach?"

Zach blinked in surprise. "I . . . I don't have one."

"No, you don't," Booth agreed. "You don't need one. You have parents who love you, a brother and sister who love you. You have friends, you have a nice home and you know exactly what you want to do with the rest of your life and how to make it happen." He waited until he knew he had Zach's attention. "Would you really trade all of that, just to be cool?"

Looking at his feet, Zach shook his head.

"I know it's hard right now, son." Booth squeezed the back of the boy's neck. "I know. You're up here," he waved one hand above their heads, "and everyone else is down here." The other settled significantly lower. "And you know what?" he asked rhetorically, "that's never going to change. Oh, you'll meet people closer to your level as you get older, maybe even someone who's smarter than you but realistically," Booth told him, "you will always be up there," his hand waved again, "and the rest of us will always be down here." One side of his mouth quirked in a half smile. "That's who you are, Zach," Booth said simply. "That's your version of cool."

The minutes stretched out between them before Zach reached out with one foot and nudged his father. "Okay, your snowflake speech was better."

Booth nodded easily. "Of course." He leaned forward and picked up his almost empty beer. "But let's not tell your mother that."

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_Thanks for reading. :-) Happy _Bones-_day!_


	4. Teamwork

_Are you still giddy over last night's_ The Patriot in Purgatory_ episode? I am! That was excellent TV, right there! BTW, this chapter has nothing to do with that episode, except that I'm still all a'flutter with _BONES_ love. *le sigh* _

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"Dad." The loud whisper hissed urgently through the telephone in Booth's hand. "You have to come get me!"

"Christine?" Booth frowned in confusion. "What's wrong? Why are you whispering? I thought you weren't allowed to call until Wednesday?"

"I'm not. I'm in the counselor's office," she answered, "so I have to make this quick before they catch me. Dad," she pleaded again, "please get me out of here! It's awful!"

"What do you mean, before they catch you?" Booth's shoulders stiffened. "Christine, did you break into that office?"

"If they really wanted to keep people out, they'd use a better lock," his daughter insisted. "That's not important - Dad, you can't leave me here!"

Booth massaged one temple with the fingers of his free hand. "You haven't even been there for two days, Chrissy. It can't be that bad-"

"It is!" she insisted. "It's horrible! Please, Dad!"

"It's only two weeks-"

"Two weeks out of my entire summer!" she wailed. "Two whole weeks!"

"Christine-"

"They only let us outside for one hour after lunch and two hours after dinner," she informed him quickly. "They don't even have a pool!"

"I'm sure they-"

"They have a playground, Dad!" Her voice was filled with outrage. "With monkey bars!"

"I suppose you could-"

"They expect us to spend all of our time inside, hunched over computers!" she exclaimed. "That's not summer camp, Dad," she argued. "That's school!"

"Honey-"

"Please, Dad," she begged. "Please get me out of here!"

Booth sighed heavily. "Christine . . ."

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_A few miles away . . . . _

"Brennan."

"Mom." Her son's quiet voice was barely audible. "This place is horrible. Please don't make me stay here."

"Zach?" Brennan frowned at her phone. "Is something wrong? I can barely hear you."

"I'm hiding in the bathroom," he answered. "I'm not getting a very good signal."

"Weren't you supposed to leave your cell phone at home?" Brennan asked pointedly.

"Mom, you're missing the point," he argued. "You can't leave me here. Please."

"Your father had to call in several favors to get you into that camp, Zach."

"But I don't like hockey! Don't tell Dad that!" he added quickly. "I mean, I like to watch the games with him, I just . . . I just don't want to play."

"Perhaps if you-"

"Mom," he interrupted, "they only have one computer, and it doesn't even have voice recognition!"

"Well, your-"

"They took my laptop away when I got here!"

"I'm sure they-"

"They don't even have a library!" He played his trump card triumphantly.

"What?" Brennan was appropriately appalled.

"They have one bookshelf in the rec room," he said ominously. "Full of comic books."

"Zach . . ."

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Three hours later, Booth opened the front door just as Brennan stepped inside the house from the patio. He looked through the door behind her and sniffed appreciatively. "You're grilling?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I stopped at the butcher on the way home." She hesitated momentarily. "I thought you might enjoy steak tonight."

"Well, I could eat steak every night," he grinned back. He seemed suddenly aware of the bottle in his hand. "Uh . . . this is for you."

Brennan reached for it. "This is the wine I read about!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Was it hard to find?"

"Nah," Booth laid his jacket across the back of a chair. "I only had to stop at five different stores," he shrugged casually. "No big deal."

Brennan pulled out a drawer and withdrew a corkscrew. "I thought you said you would never pay $300 for one bottle of wine."

He cleared his throat and ran a smoothing hand over his tie. "Well, you know . . . Hey!" he changed the subject. "I better check the grill, wouldn't want to overcook my steak."

For the next few minutes they busied themselves with the last of the preparations for dinner. When they finally took their seats opposite each other, Brennan's eyes slid toward the empty chair on her left. "So," she asked brightly, "how was your day?"

Booth sliced into his steak. "Good," he nodded. "Shuffled some paper, signed some documents, yelled at some agents. You know," he looked up with a grin, "the usual." His gaze slipped to the seat at his left before he deliberately widened his smile. "How was yours?"

"Fine!" She answered immediately. "My examination of the 5th century Chinese warrior is complete, so I'll be returning those remains."

"Oh, good," Booth replied. There was a beat of awkward silence. "I'm sure he'll be glad to go home."

She frowned. "Well, he's dead so . . ."

"Yea, right . . ." He cleared his throat quietly.

Brennan looked at Zach's empty chair.

Booth looked at Christine's empty chair.

"Chrissy called me today-"  
"I had a phone call from Zach-"

Laughter broke the tension of the jumble of words.

Booth sat back in his chair. "She's miserable, Bones."

Brennan nodded. "He is very unhappy."

"So what do you want to do?"

Brennan reached for her wine. "I still believe our objective was a rational one," she asserted. "They should be exposed to a broad range of activities, to widen their circle of interests."

"It doesn't do much good if they hate it," Booth pointed out.

"No," she sighed.

He hesitated. "I . . . uh . . . I called Eddie. He almost wet his pants at getting her back in soccer camp, even if it is a couple of days late."

She glanced up. "I spoke to Dr. Fisher. He is happy to make an exception and allow Zach to join the class again. He doesn't think missing a couple of days will be an issue." She paused for a moment. "I believe Zach is worried you might think less of him because he's not interested in playing hockey."

"What?" Booth was shocked. "No way! I'm so proud of that kid I practically pop my shirt buttons off." He watched her carefully. "Are you disappointed in Christine?"

"No," Brennan said immediately. "Of course not. I'm disappointed she doesn't have more of an interest in science," she admitted, "but I'm not at all disappointed in her." She nibbled at her lower lip. "She does understand the difference, doesn't she?"

"I'm sure she does," Booth reassured her quickly. "But I tell you what, tomorrow, why don't I go get Zach and take him to Johns Hopkins and you can pick up Chrissy and drive her to Frederick."

Brennan's eyes narrowed on him. "So we can reassure each child of our affection and pride in them?"

With effort, he stopped himself from laughing. "Something like that," he acknowledged.

"That is an excellent suggestion," she told him proudly. "It's very wise of you."

Now he did laugh. "Well, I have my moments," he responded smugly. He glanced down at his plate. "Did you serve me steak to butter me up for this conversation?"

"Yes," she said immediately. "Did you buy that wine to influence my decision?"

"Absolutely," he grinned.

"Hmm." She sipped, staring at him over the rim of the glass. "I had also planned to use sex, if necessary."

His dark brown eyes twinkled as he pushed his chair back. "Well, I'm not totally convinced," he teased. He held out one hand toward her.

She chuckled, the rich, throaty sound sending ripples of desire skittering over his veins when she rounded the table. "I'm prepared to do anything for my children," she murmured as she draped herself sensuously across his lap.

"Of course," he agreed, the husky sound of his voice lost against her lips. "It's for the children."

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_Happy Day After One of the Most Perfect Episodes of _Bones_ ever! :-) _

_Thanks for reading!  
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	5. Surprise!

_Because you knew it was bound to happen . . . . _

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"What's wrong with Mommy?"

The simple question received an immediate response.

"Ahhhh!" Booth yelped in shock as he rolled away from Brennan, pulling the sheet up over them in the same quick movement. "Christine - what -"

Brennan sat up abruptly, pushing hair out of her eyes with one hand while she tugged the bedding high enough to cover her bare breasts with the other. "Christine!" she gasped.

The little girl stood in their doorway, clearly visible in the bright light of the full moon shining through the window. She peered at them through wide eyes over the floppy ears of the pink rabbit she clutched to her chest.

"I thought you locked the door!" Booth hissed at Brennan.

"I thought you had!" she shot back.

"Why is Mommy crying?" Christine's face began to crumble.

"No, no, baby," Booth tried to soothe her while his foot hunted along the bottom of the bed for his underwear. "No, honey, Mommy wasn't crying - she . . . she was . . ."

"I was experiencing an orgas-" Brennan began helpfully.

"BONES!" He looked at her with something akin to horror on his face.

She frowned at him. "I was, Booth. I thought you knew-"

"I did know!" he whispered through clenched teeth. "She's four! She doesn't need to!"

"Is Mommy okay?" Christine's lower lip began to wobble.

His big toe finally hooked around an elastic waistband. "Yes, sweetheart, of course she is . . . she was . . . it was just . . ."

The small face suddenly scrunched in anger; Christine ran forward and slapped at the mound of his legs with the bunny. "Don't hurt my mommy!" she yelled at him.

"Honey, I would never -" Booth tried to scoot the underwear up the bed to within reach of his hand. "Pumpkin, Daddy would never hurt Mommy, I promise. Never. We-"

"Actually, sometimes I enjoy-"

"mmmmmm!" Booth shot a finger toward the woman at his side as he grunted a warning. "mmmmm!" Underwear finally in hand, he tried to slip into them beneath the covers while his brain worked frantically. "Mommy was . . . she was . . ." Two sets of identical blue eyes watched him struggle for words. "She was cold," he rushed out. "Yea, she was cold and . . . and I was . . . I was . . . I was just trying to warm her up." He tried to smile reassuringly at the little girl who stared at him suspiciously from the foot of their bed.

"Why isn't Mommy wearing pajamas? Then she wouldn't be cold."

From the corner of his eye, Booth saw Brennan's head swivel toward him. He refused to look in her direction. "Well," he began. "Well . . . she got hot so . . . and then she took them off and . . . it . . . she . . . uh . . ."

"You're very bad at this," Brennan murmured quietly as he continued to stammer incoherently. "If we simply explain that we were having intercourse-"

"No!" A muscle jumped in his jaw as he glared at her. He switched immediately to a smile when he turned back to Christine. "Look how late it is, Chrissy-cakes, you should be in bed." After a brief fight with the covers he managed to free his legs and stand up. "Come on, Daddy will take you back to your room and tuck you in."

"I could-" Brennan began.

"I'll do it," he hissed as he picked up the little girl. "She doesn't need you teaching her about Kama Sutra!"

"I wasn't going to-"

"'night, Mommy!" Christine piped up as Booth carried her from the room. "Ewww, you're sweaty, Daddy."

Their voices drifted back as they walked down the hallway. "Yea, Daddy got too hot, too."

"You needa take a bath."

"I was thinking the same thing, honey. Daddy needs a nice cold shower."

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_Thanks for reading! :-D_


	6. Room for One More

**_What can I say, a new baby makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and stuff. :-)_**

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"Did you enjoy growing up with a brother?"

Booth's head popped through the neckline of the t-shirt he was changing into when Brennan spoke. "Jared?" He shrugged as he settled it around his waist. "Mostly. I mean, he was a pain in the ass when he got older but when we were kids?" One shoulder lifted again. "Yea." Turning to the bathroom, he missed Brennan's glance toward the stack of paper on her bedside dresser.

"I loved having a brother," she replied, watching carefully as he performed his nightly rituals. "He was someone who accepted me, who loved me without reservation." Her legs shifted restlessly beneath the covers as her fingers plucked at a loose thread. "Siblings can be very influential."

Booth turned on the water and stuck his toothbrush beneath the stream. "I guess."

Brennan's eyes slipped again to the documents at her side. "_Red Tape, White Bones" _is doing extremely well in Europe." She switched topics abruptly. "Choosing a percentage of the profits instead of selling the movie rights for a flat fee is going to be very lucrative."

Booth snorted rudely. "I guess subtitles improve the dialogue," he spoke around a mouthful of toothpaste. "Not that that's your fault," he added quickly before he leaned over to spit. "If they'd used lines from your book - "

She waved his explanation away. "I happen to agree with you. The adaption is very stilted." She hesitated briefly. "I transferred the funds to our investment account."

He picked up a hand towel and dried his face. "I don't care about the money, Bones. As long as we can afford season tickets for - " His voice dropped off abruptly; suspicion on his face, he swiveled toward her and took one step into the bedroom. "Are you pregnant?"

"No," she responded immediately.

His shoulders relaxed. "Oh. Okay then," he grinned. "Brothers, siblings, money . . . I thought maybe you were buttering me up to - "

"But I would like to discuss the possibility of having another child."

He stared at her without blinking for the span of at least a full minute then, still holding the towel, walked slowly to the bed and, even more slowly, sat down. His eyes never left hers.

"You want another kid," he repeated without inflection.

"Yes," she nodded. "Christine is three years old now so if I become pregnant right away, she will be almost four when the new baby is born. I believe that is an acceptable age difference between siblings. Of course," she frowned, "if I have difficulty getting pregnant again - "

"Hey," he interrupted, "my stuff is good."

"Your ejaculate is of sufficient quantity," Brennan nodded easily. Booth opened his mouth to interrupt, thought better of it and closed it firmly, hiding a smile as he took in her earnest, sincere expression. "That isn't necessarily an indication of the amount or motility of the sperm you produce but - "

"Bones," a laugh escaped him, "my swimmers are fine."

"Yes, well," she continued, "that isn't something we need to think about unless I don't become pregnant within a reasonable amount of time." His eyes crinkled at the corners when she reached for the stack of paper on the bedside table and began to lay out individual pages across the bed in front of her. "Financially, we can certainly afford to enlarge our family, if we choose. I've done some research and - "

"Okay." Booth grabbed the foot closest to him, squeezed it then stood up and headed back to the bathroom.

". . . technically, Christine isn't an only child but Parker is so much older that - " She looked up in surprise as his words registered. "Okay?"

"Sure." He wiped down the sink, draped the towel over the bar and turned off the light. "Actually," he stopped at the door and frowned, "it feels a little strange to plan having a baby instead of having one just . . ." He threw his hands in the air, "you know, oops!"

She stared at him in confusion as he approached the bed again. "You're agreeing to have another child? Just like that? You don't want to discuss it further?" She waved a hand over the scattered papers. "I have research . . . I drew up charts comparing the benefits of being an only child with the benefits of growing up with siblings. I - "

Booth got into bed and slid over close. "Bones," he interrupted, "I don't need research." He held her gaze as the fingers of one hand traced the contours of her jaw. "I love you," he said simply. "Parker, Christine . . . I love our family. If you want to make it a little bigger . . ." He drew back slightly, his eyes narrowed on hers. "You are talking about just one more kid . . . right?"

"Yes," she nodded immediately. "Although we can't rule out the possibility of twins or other multiple -"

"Shhhh!" Booth hastily placed his fingertips on her lips. When she was silent, he lifted his hand and pointed one finger heavenward. "He might hear you," he whispered.

Brennan rolled her eyes but left her usual skeptical comment unsaid. "You're sure?" she asked instead, her uncertainty obvious. "About having another child?"

In answer, Booth grabbed a handful of the carefully prepared charts and spreadsheets and threw them haphazardly over his shoulder. "Positive. In fact," he covered her body with his own, "I kinda like the thought of you pregnant again."

She slid deeper into the bed as his mouth opened along her neck. "You do?"

"mmmm," he murmured. His lips trailed lower as he pushed aside the thin camisole she wore. "Round," his teeth grazed along the curve of her breast. "Full." She arched up with a gasp. "Mine."

Her fingers dug into his hair. "You do realize that is a typical male response to looking upon the evidence of your own virility." She tugged at the t-shirt he'd donned only minutes before.

He kissed his way back up her neck. "Yea? Well, I'm feeling very virile right now," he growled against her lips.

The rich, husky sound of her laughter drifted through the room as her fingers slid down the rippled planes of his torso and dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear. "Prove it."

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Zach Henry Booth was born 41 weeks later.

In his parents' bed, as his mother insisted.

Attended by a physician, as his father demanded.

And welcomed with love by all.

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_Thanks for reading!_


	7. Her Father's Daughter

**AN: FYI, neither Booth nor Brennan appear in person (so to speak) in this chapter. If you have issues with that kind of story, consider this your warning and click away now.**

**If you're still here, I commend your open-mindedness regarding fanfic and thanks for reading! :-)  
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It's cliche to describe a moment of destiny by saying _their __eyes __met __across __a __crowded __room__._ Cliches are cliches, however, because they have a basis in fact and in this case, that's exactly what happened.

Even years later, she would never be able to explain what it was that caused her to raise her eyes at that precise moment. A random sound, perhaps . . . the chink of money against the glass counter or a burst of laughter from another customer. It might have been a ray of light reflected off the glass of the door being pushed open or a flash of movement on one of the TV screens fixed to the wall. Whatever the reason, she glanced up.

He was standing in line, patiently waiting his turn at the register. As he shuffled forward one spot, he reached back for his wallet and at the same time, looked casually over his shoulder. There was no reason for the move. Until then, he hadn't noticed her.

It was just . . . fate.

That was the moment he looked over.

That was the moment she looked up.

Blue eyes tinged with silver and green caught and held eyes the color of a clear summer sky.

The busy coffee shop faded into silence and disappeared into the background, until his attention was diverted by the cashier's impatient voice calling him forward.

At the table, the air that had frozen in her lungs released with a _whoosh_ as she blinked and shook her head. _Wow__, __that __was__ . . . _She frowned at the screen of her laptop and reached for her coffee. _Wow__._

She was reading the same sentence for the third time when she felt someone stop beside her.

"I wondered if you'd mind sharing your table." His voice was low and carried more than a hint of the local drawl, with a raspy timbre that sent tingles of electricity skittering along her veins. She glanced around quickly at the sparse crowd and the number of empty seats in the small shop before her eyes traveled up the long, lean length of him to the boyish face smiling at her from beneath carefully disheveled sandy hair. When her brows lifted slightly, his lips twitched. "It was the first excuse I could come up with."

Charmed, but trying to hide it, she nodded and rearranged her belongings to clear a space on the table's surface for him.

He sat down and offered his hand. "Andrew."

"Christine."

The handshake lasted a bit longer than either of them noticed before he sat back, clearing his throat nervously. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything important." He nodded toward her laptop.

"You didn't," she answered as she closed it immediately. "I was just studying."

"Oh." His eyes widened. "You aren't a . . . a freshman . . . are you?" His expression was horrified.

Christine chuckled. "No," she reassured him. "I graduate in the spring." She picked up her cup and sipped casually. "Are you here at Marshall, too?"

He shook his head. "No, West Virginia grad. I work for the state, out of Charleston. I'm an engineer," he added. "Roads, bridges . . ." His voice trailed off as he shrugged. Seconds ticked away as their eyes caught and held again. "Umm -" Andrew suddenly remembered the coffee growing cold in front of him and reached for it. "What's your major?" The words had no sooner left his mouth before he closed his eyes and groaned. "God, that sounded lame."

She swallowed another laugh and took pity on him. "Forensic science."

"Oh." She had obviously surprised him with her answer. "So you're going to medical school next?"

"No," Christine shook her head. "My goal is to join the FBI."

His surprise was even more apparent. "The FBI? Wow." A smile curved his lips before he ducked his head to cover it up.

She was immediately suspicious. "What?"

"Well . . ." Humour glinted in Andrew's eyes when he lifted them to hers again. "There's a joke there - about you and me and handcuffs." The clear blue of his eyes darkened to something that caused her breath to hitch again. "But I'll wait until our second date to tell you."

"Our second date?" Christine lifted one brow imperiously, but she couldn't hide her own amusement.

"Yea," he nodded. "I figure dinner will be our first - as soon as I think of a way to ask that you'll find irresistible."

Charmed despite herself, Christine reached for her coffee and peeped at him over the rim of the cup as she drank.

A minute ticked away in silence, with neither of them able to look away.

Finally, Andrew's fingers circled vaguely near his temple. "I . . . got nothing," he admitted ruefully.

Christine burst out laughing. Nose crinkled, her eyes shimmered green and blue, her smile was wide and bright and she was beautiful . . . and that was the moment he fell - tumbled, really - head over heels in love. "Well," she teased, unaware that he was completely and utterly under the spell she didn't know she'd cast, "I accept the invitation you haven't extended yet."

"Really?" Andrew settled back in his chair with a smug grin, relaxed and ready to spend all day listening to her laugh. "Damn - I am good."

And that's when she tumbled, too.

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From that moment, they were inseparable - or as inseparable as they could be, given their busy schedules and the fact that they lived over an hour apart from each other. Two weeks followed, filled with phone calls and text messages and computer chats, interspersed with dinner and lunch and sometimes just coffee in between her classes or his meetings.

At the end of the third week, he allowed her to seduce him.

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As dawn reached out with misty grey fingers, Christine woke to find herself tucked securely into the curve of his body. She shifted a bit and snuggled deeper into his warmth. His arm tightened around her waist; without waking up, he pressed a kiss into her hair.

Eyes wide open, she let her gaze drift over the unfamiliar surroundings of his bedroom while her thoughts spun in a thousand different directions. Memories of the past weeks, images from the night before . . . all played in an endless loop, interspersed with pictures of her parents and her family, mingling with her own hopes and dreams and ambitions.

_"__I __hope __that __you __will __not __be __afraid __to __listen __to __your __heart__."_

"Was it that bad?" Andrew's voice, rough with sleep, rumbled in her ear.

"What?" She shifted to her back and stared into still-slumberous blue eyes.

"Last night." His smile was soft before he leaned over and kissed her gently. "You're thinking so loud, I can hear you out here."

Her fingers played in the short hair that covered his chest before she looked up tentatively. "I need to tell you something."

His head went back slightly. "Okay." When Christine remained silent, his lips curved up in a one-sided smile. "Is this where you tell me you used to be a man?" he teased. "Because if that's it, all I can say is they did a damn good job."

She slapped at his arm as she laughed. "No, don't be silly." She bit her lip and then caught his eyes once more. "We need to go to my place."

Andrew lifted himself up on one elbow. "Your place?" His surprise wasn't a pretense. "Really? I finally get to see your place? Huh." He lowered himself to her side again and kissed her bare shoulder. "I thought maybe you lived in a tent."

She reached for the hand that lay on her abdomen and threaded their fingers together. "It's worse than that." His brow furrowed at the serious tone of her voice before he shook it off.

"Okay, then, we'll go to your place."

When Christine moved to shift the blanket aside, he threw one leg over hers. "We don't have to leave right this minute, do we?" he murmured, as he rolled her beneath his body. "I was thinking, an hour or so."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed into his kiss. "Or so."

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It was several hours past "or so" when Andrew pulled up to a closed gate outside a six-story red brick building and took the security card Christine offered.

"This is where you live?" he asked as he peered through the windshield. "How did you find an apartment in here? I thought it was all condos."

Her hesitation was brief but obvious. "My mom bought the building," she mumbled.

Andrew's eyebrows went up as the gate opened in front of them. "Your . . . mom bought . . . the . . ."

Embarrassed, Christine shrugged. "My dad has a . . . a thing about security," she said with a roll of her eyes. "When I moved out of the dorms, it was either something like this," she waved toward the gate now closing behind them, "or I was getting a bodyguard." Andrew waited for a 'just kidding' remark that never came. "My mom's financial advisors are always looking for investments so . . ."

He glanced over as he pulled into a _visitors only_ parking spot. "So is this your big secret?" he asked curiously. "That you're rich?"

There was a brief, short shake of her head. " . . . No."

They got out of the car and headed toward the building. "When I got my first apartment, my parents bought me towels." When Christine's head swiveled toward him, he grinned. "They were really nice towels."

She couldn't help but laugh as she tapped a few numbers into the security pad set into the wall, waited for the buzz of the door's release and led him inside.

The utilitarian lobby was plain, and except for a few simple landscapes dotting walls painted the color of sand and bushy green plants perched on stands around the elevators, unadorned.

Christine shot nervous glances at Andrew and had just opened her mouth to speak when the elevator arrived.

An old man stepped off; his still-rigid posture coupled with the ruthlessly severe lines of what was left of his hair betrayed more than a passing familiarity with military service.

"Good morning, Colonel Armstrong." Christine's greeting was as sincere as her bright smile.

"Miss Booth." He did not smile. His glance slipped over the silky pink dress she'd left wearing the previous night before the sharp green eyes moved to Andrew.

Feeling a bit like she'd been caught sneaking out of her parents' house, Christine rushed to introduce the two men. "Uh - this is . . . a . . . a friend of mine -"

"Andrew Taylor, sir." He offered his hand and found it grasped firmly as he was sized up by the old soldier.

"Are you a classmate of Christine's, young man?"

"No, sir." Andrew accepted the interrogation easily. "My college days are long behind me. I'm gainfully employed now by the great state of West Virginia." Instinct stopped him from following up his words with a grin.

"Hm." The sound was more a grunt than an actual word, as the colonel was clearly not yet convinced of Andrew's suitability. "And your people?" His eyes narrowed on the younger man. "Where are you from?"

"Right here, sir," Andrew nodded immediately. "Born and bred, eight generations of us."

After a moment's consideration, the silver head nodded. "Carry on." Without a look back, his strides long and steady, Colonel Armstrong headed for the door.

Andrew waited until the elevator doors closed before he laughed. "I thought you were joking about the bodyguard."

Christine sighed and shook her head. "If he hadn't been here when I moved in, I'd swear my dad planted him."

The bell chimed as they arrived on the sixth floor. Christine walked out, turned the corner and led him to the door at the end of the hallway.

She put the key in the lock . . . paused . . . squared her shoulders . . . and pushed it open.

Andrew looked around curiously as he followed her. A long wall of exposed brick was immediately opposite the door, bracketing one side of a large, open room separated into different areas of functionality by the furnishings grouped together. The hardwood floor beneath his feet was old and scarred, scattered here and there with thick rugs that picked up the warm colors of honey and earth that dominated the space, accented carefully with muted splashes of crimson and green. The whole effect was one of calm and peace, of home and welcome.

He relaxed. He wasn't sure what, exactly, he'd been expecting but this easy, inviting oasis punctured his unacknowledged anxiety.

Until he found Christine again. She'd dropped her coat and bag over a chair and stood in front of a fireplace tucked into one wall. The mantel behind her was crowded with photos. Her hands appeared to be clasped loosely at her waist but when he looked closer, he could see the white shine of her knuckles.

"Okay." She took a deep breath and blew it out with pursed lips. "Here's the deal . . ." A nervous laugh escaped. "It doesn't usually matter but . . .Well, you matter to me so . . ." She licked lips suddenly gone dry. "I know that's weird," she babbled, "because we haven't known each other all that long . . . really . . . but . . ."

He stared in fascinated surprise as she fidgeted and prattled on. He took one step toward her. "Christine -"

"No." She held up one hand to halt his progress, looked at her feet, nodded, and cleared her throat. When she lifted her chin, her eyes were determined. "Parker Booth is my brother," she said baldly.

He blinked in shock. "Really?"

Christine nodded slowly as she catalogued his reaction.

He pulled a face, impressed despite himself. "Wow." One shoulder lifted. "I've seen him in concert, he's -" His words came to an abrupt end as a photo peeking out from behind her shoulder caught his eye. He inched closer. "Is that Temperance Bre -" His eyes flew to hers.

Christine tore her gaze from him and looked over her shoulder at the family portrait that had captured his attention. Formatted in black and white, it was taken against the backdrop of a battered vintage pickup truck. Her parents stood at the driver's door, Brennan in front of the arm Booth had stretched out along the roof of the vehicle. Parker, Christine and Zach grinned at the camera from the bed of the truck.

When she turned back to Andrew, his face was pale. "You - Booth - you . . . your name is Booth," he stuttered. "I knew that. You told me that. I just didn't . . . it never occurred to me -" He wiped one hand over his jaw and then pointed at the photo. "Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth, they're your . . . your parents."

Christine's eyes flicked once more to the photo and then to Andrew again. "Yes," she answered slowly.

He surprised her by laughing, before he began to pace. "So . . . you're their . . . you're their daughter."

"That's usually how it works," she said sarcastically. He covered his face with both hands, turned his back on her and laughed again. Her eyes narrowed. "What is going on, Andrew?" she demanded. "I tell you about Parker and you freak out about my _parents__?_" His hands dropped to his side but humour danced in his expression when he faced her again. "You know that's weird - right?"

"Oh, the universe is having a good laugh right now," he grinned. He cupped her jaw with one hand and kissed her exuberantly. "I have something to show you," he said when he released her. "You might want to change." He touched her sandal-shod toes with one of his own feet. "You're definitely going to need better shoes."

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They'd been driving for almost three hours, through tree-shaded mountain roads that twisted and turned back on themselves when Christine looked over at him.

"If you're taking me in the woods to hurt me," she told him, only half-joking, "my father will kill you and my mother will make sure no one ever identifies your body."

Andrew just laughed and reached for her hand. "I absolutely believe that," he answered as he kissed her fingers. "We're almost there." He gave her a wink. "Trust me."

Sure enough, it wasn't long before he pulled off onto the shoulder of the road. He glanced at her as he pushed open his door. "We're here," he said. "Come on."

Shaking her head, Christine reached for the handle of her own door.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she walked up beside him. He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded ahead. "This is it."

She followed the direction of his gesture and stated the obvious. "It's a bridge."

A smile played around his mouth as he nodded and watched her carefully. "Your mother built it."

Christine's mouth fell open. Her head whipped between him and the bridge in front of them. "My mother - What?"

"Well," he shrugged, "she didn't come out here with a blow torch or a hammer but she built it, just the same. She paid for it." His grin widened as he grabbed her hand. "Look." He led her closer, to a brass plaque fixed to the front of a pillar placed at the entrance.

_To __Dr__. __Temperance __Brennan  
with __Gratitude  
The __Citizens __of __Tucker __County  
and  
The __State __of __West __Virginia_

Christine traced the letters of her mother's name in wonder. "I don't - Why?" She looked from the plaque to the bridge to Andrew. "Why would she build a bridge here?"

He leaned close enough to touch her nose with his. "That's the other thing I have to show you," he whispered. "Let's go."

In the car once more, Christine turned to watch through the back window as the bridge disappeared.

They had only been driving for about forty-five minutes when Andrew pulled off the road again, coming to a stop beside a knee-high guard rail on the curve of a narrow, two-lane road. He hopped over it and reached for Christine's hand to help her down the hillside.

"Careful," he advised as he assisted her progress. "It rained a few days ago, the wet leaves make it slick."

At the bottom of the incline he stopped, looked back toward the hill and began silently counting the trees that filled the space. He approached one and patted the bark. "This is it." He pulled Christine close and pointed skyward.

She frowned at his profile and then looked up, following the direction of his finger. "What am I looking for?" she whispered finally. "What's up there?"

His finger still pointed up, Andrew watched her. "That's where your parents found me."

It took a moment for his words to sink in. "Where my - What?" Christine stared at him and then again up into the leaves. "Where they found . . . What?"

Andrew tucked both hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I've heard the story my whole life," he explained. "My mom . . . my real mom," he qualified, "was killed here. I was a year old, thereabouts," he shrugged. "They ran her off the road up there." He nodded toward the road where his car was parked. "Set her on fire. The explosion blew my car seat - with me in it," he added with a grin, "into this tree. It was twenty-five years ago so it was a bit smaller but," her fascinated gaze was locked on him, "that's where I was when Dr. Temperance Brennan and Special Agent Seeley Booth found me."

He closed Christine's gaping mouth with one finger beneath her chin. "Your parents found out who killed my mom. Put him in jail. He died of a heart attack there about ten years ago." Andrew stared up at the tree for a moment. "My mom's best friends adopted me." His voice was quiet when he spoke again. "I've had a good life. Happy." He looked at her and winked. "My parents never bought me a building or anything," he teased, "but I had a good life." His expression became serious. "Thanks to your mom and dad."

Shock rendered Christine speechless. Her eyes traveled repeatedly from Andrew's face to the sun-dappled branches high above their heads.

"And then three weeks ago," he caught the lapels of her jacket in his fingers and pulled her close to him, "I walked into a coffee shop and there you were."

She looked past him again, to the top of the tree.

Andrew's fingers brushed against the skin of her cheek before he slipped them into the rich chestnut silk of her hair.

Once again, blue eyes tinged with silver and green caught and held eyes the color of a clear summer sky.

"Do you believe in fate?" His softly spoken words whispered into her soul.

Christine's smile was brighter than the sun that poked through the thick canopy of leaves that hung over them. She linked her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers.

"Of course I do," she murmured before their lips met. "I'm my father's daughter."

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**Okay, confession time. The bones of my _Bones_-world (See what I did there? huh? huh? :-D) come from the very first multi-chapter story I wrote, _The Story in the Tale_. Ruthie is now Christine (thanks for nothing, HH!) but other than that, the foundation for my B&B Happily Ever After builds off of that fic. Parker met Billy Gibbons, Zach is a genius, Ruthie/Christine is an FBI agent, etc. I also had her marrying Andy Taylor but *no one* picked up on the fact that "Andy Taylor" and "Baby Andy" were the same person. Of course, maybe that's because only 20 people actually read that story but still . . . I was proud of myself for slipping that in there and then disappointed when no one said "AH HA!"**

**So, fine. Now I've spelled it out for you. As usual, I have to do all the work around here. :-)  
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**I hope you all had a Merry Christmas or at least a nice day off and thank you (thank you thank you thank you) for reading!  
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	8. Everything is Fine

**AN: A few weeks ago, I saw an illustration on Facebook and Pinterest that immediately caught my attention. Two elderly people are sitting on opposite ends of a park bench. It's raining, they're both hunched over, frowning and obviously angry with each other but the old man is holding an umbrella out over the old woman's head, protecting her from the weather while he gets wet. The caption says "Just because you're mad at someone doesn't mean you stop loving them." I took one look at that and thought, that's Booth and Brennan. That's who they are in my head. This chapter was born out of that cartoon.**

**FYI, this is way future AU, like 30-35 years from now.  
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**Thanks for reading!  
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The light chimes of the doorbell rang through the house. Chopping peppers at the counter in the kitchen, Brennan looked over the rim of the silver spectacles perched on the end of her nose.

In the living room, Booth shifted in his chair and refused to meet her eyes.

A minute passed.

The bell tinkled again.

"Are you going to answer the door?" she asked finally.

"No." Deliberately, he pointed the remote at the TV and switched it on.

The knife hit the counter with a clatter. "Fine. I'll let them in."

Booth slapped the remote down on the table next to his chair. "Never mind! I'll do it!" He braced himself with his arms and pushed up to a standing position. One step later, muttered curses filled the air. "Where the hell did that footstool come from?" he asked as he rubbed at his shin.

"If you were wearing your glasses you would have seen it." Brennan calmly went back to her task as the doorbell chimed for the third time.

"I only need them to read. I told you, I can see fine."

"And yet you missed an item of furniture that's been in front of your chair for twelve years," Brennan pointed out sarcastically.

"Jeri probably moved it when she was here cleaning yesterday." Without hesitation, he blamed their housekeeper as he grumbled his way across the room. "I told you she does that stuff on purpose."

Brennan's response was an unseen roll of her eyes and a heard-but-ignored loud sigh. She made sure the knife made noisy contact with the cutting board as she continued chopping.

Booth peered through the curtain on the door before he pulled it open. With a jerk of his head, he invited Angela and Hodgins inside.

"I thought maybe we'd gotten the day wrong." Booth's only answer to Angela's smiling comment was a grunt as he allowed the door to fall closed behind them with a bang.

She and Hodgins exchanged an amused glance before she moved on to the kitchen. "What's wrong with Booth?" she asked, sitting the bowl she carried down on the counter and brushing aside the long braid that lay over one shoulder so that it hung down her back in a thick shining, silver rope.

Brennan continued chopping. "I don't know," she shrugged. "I'm angry with him."

"No, you're not!" Booth called from the living room. "I'm mad at you!"

Brennan didn't even look up. "Fine!"

"Fine!" Booth shot back.

"Well, okay, then." Swallowing laughter, Hodgins looked from one to the other. "Maybe I'll just see about starting the grill while you two get that figured out."

"Leave my grill alone, Hodgins," Booth ordered cantankerously. "You might blow something up."

"Hey, I haven't done that in years!" Before the men reached the back door, Brennan had retrieved two bottles of water from the fridge and was there waiting. Booth eyed her offering with disdain.

"I wanted a beer."

"If you have one now, you can't have one with dinner." Brennan lifted the water. "It's your choice."

His brow lowered. "I can have both."

"No, you may not." She met his eyes straight on. "Your doctor said -"

"Fine!" Irritated, he grabbed both bottles from her.

"Fine!" Brennan's chin went up.

"Never a dull moment around here, is there?" Angela's broad grin was accompanied by a laugh when her friend returned to the counter. "Why is he mad at you?"

Brennan paused, considered the question and then shrugged. "I don't know."

"Oh." Angela blinked. "Well, why are you mad at him?"

"Because he's angry with me."

"But you just -" A loud blurble from the phone lying on the counter interrupted whatever she might have said.

Brennan punched a button. "Hello, Christine."

"Hey, Mom." The younger woman's voice echoed thinly from the small rectangle. "We're running a bit late, sorry. Seeley's T-ball game took longer than I expected but we're on our way now."

"That's fine, dear. Angela and Hodgins just arrived."

"Hey, Chris!" Angela sang out. "We're still waiting on Michael and Tom, too."

"Well, we aren't late if Michael's not there!" The smile in Christine's voice was obvious. "Do you want us to stop for anything, Mom?"

"There's actual meat there, right?" Andrew's faint voice came from somewhere beside Christine.

Brennan looked at Angela with a frown. "Why does everyone ask that question when we invite people over for a cookout?"

"Because we all remember the eggplant burgers, honey." Angela patted her best friend on the arm.

"But that was ten years ago -"

"Mom?" Christine's voice interrupted them. "Did you want us to pick up anything?"

"No, dear." Brennan switched gears. "We have everything - including meat."

"Okay then, we'll be there in a few. Love you!"

Goodbyes were exchanged and the phone switched off. Almost immediately, Brennan began searching the cabinets around her. When she dragged a small stool over, Angela looked a bit nervous.

"Want me to get something for you?"

"No," Brennan shook her head. "I can -"

"BONES!" Booth's furious voice came from just outside the window. As quickly as a man nearing 80 could move, he was inside the house. "What are you doing?" he demanded as he crossed the room to her side. "Get down! You just had surgery on that knee - do you want to fall again?" Despite his angry tone, his hands were gentle when he helped her step safely to the floor.

"I only wanted the glass bowl -"

"I offered to help her," Angela inserted helpfully, earning herself a glare from Brennan in reply.

"I am perfectly capable of -"

"I'll get it for you!" Booth cut her off.

"Fine!"

"Fine!" He reached up to the top shelf. "This one?" When she nodded, he passed it down to her.

Frowning, she took it from his hands.

"I mean it, Bones, don't get up there again!" he ordered before he turned to go. Abruptly, he swung back and rested his cheek on the sleek white hair that lay against her jaw in a short bob. "Please."

"It's been six months -" She closed her mouth when his eyes narrowed on hers. "I won't."

He stopped at the door and pointed to the window. "I'll be watching." He added another jab of his finger toward the glass when she stuck her tongue out at him.

Angela began to laugh. "You two are so -"

The doorbell interrupted her this time, followed immediately by a little boy's chirping voice calling out, "Gramma! I'm here! I'm here!"

Angela squeaked and hopped down from the barstool she'd just taken a seat on. She snatched up the curly-haired moppet racing through the house. "Barney!" She covered his face in loud, smacking kisses. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in, like, a month!"

He giggled in her arms. "Yes, you have. You saw me this many sleeps ago!" He held up three fingers.

"I did?" Angela rubbed her nose against his. "That's too many sleeps, I think. Maybe I'll steal you away tonight, too."

"Daddy!" Barney looked over his shoulder at the man just approaching. "Can Gramma steal me?"

Michael laughed and kissed Angela on the cheek. "I suppose so." Glass rattled in the bag he placed on the counter. "Hi, Tempe." He glanced around the house and then through the glass at the two men standing around the now-smoking grill and grinned. "Don't tell me we got here before Christine?"

"Christine and Andrew aren't here?" A shorter blonde-haired man appeared at Michael's side. He laughed and lifted one hand, palm up. While Michael slapped his own against it in a high-five gesture, he whooped, "We win!"

Brennan peered into the bag Michael had placed on the counter. "She'll be very disappointed you arrived first," she said with a smile. "Are these brownies?"

Tom nodded. "And a berry cobbler for Seeley." He nudged Brennan's shoulder with his own. "Since he pouted when I didn't bring one to your birthday party."

"He totally pouted," Angela agreed.

The little boy still in her arms squirmed. "Can I go outside with Grampa?"

Angela looked toward Michael, who nodded. "Come on, I'll go with you."

"Stay out of the mud, Barney," Tom instructed quickly. "Michael, don't let him get dirty before dinner."

His spouse just laughed. "He's four, there's no way to keep him out of the dirt." He stole a kiss and squeezed Tom's shoulder. "But I'll try. Come on, little man." He swung Barney up to his shoulders and carried him out.

Angela watched them push open the door and then turned back with a laugh. "You're doomed to disappointment, Tom, especially once Christine gets here. If there isn't a mud hole, he and Seeley will make one!"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Boys. Now," he looked expectantly at Brennan. "What can I do to help?"

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Christine and Andrew arrived and between the good-natured teasing over their tardiness and the boisterous noise created by three children playing at full-speed, the casual gathering took on the loud, laughing atmosphere of familiarity.

Booth and Brennan continued to nip at each other, providing a source of amusement for their audience with every muttered "Fine!" Lost in the usual bickering, however, were the small moments only they noticed, gestures from one to the other that were offered and accepted with the soft touch of decades of love and commitment.

Listening with one ear to a discussion between Angela, Tom and Christine about a remodeling project, Brennan called her granddaughter to her side. "Put that last piece of cobbler on a plate," she whispered to the little girl, "and take it to your grandfather."

When twilight fell, Booth stopped Christine as she carried dishes into the house. "Bring your mother out a sweater," he instructed quietly. "It's cool out here with the sun gone."

Like the bickering, those small details were just part of who they had always been.

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At the end of the evening, they stood together and waved goodbye as everyone left. When the last headlights backed out of the driveway, Booth closed the door.

"Thanks for saving me that last piece of cobbler." He pulled Brennan close and rested his chin above her ear.

"You're welcome." She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thank you for the sweater. I had just started to feel chilled."

His hold on her tightened in answer. "So I guess you're not mad at me anymore, huh?"

Brennan pulled back and looked into his face. "I wasn't angry, you were."

Booth dropped his arms, stepped back and slapped at the light switch. The room went dark, except for the dim lights above the shelves. "No, Bones, you said you were mad at me, remember?" He kept a careful hand at her waist as they walked slowly upstairs.

"Only because you said you were," she disagreed. "Why were you angry?"

"Angry is the wrong word," he prevaricated. "It's too strong."

"Alright." She paused on the landing. "Why were you mad?"

Booth thought for a moment and then shrugged. "I don't remember."

"You don't -" Brennan frowned. "You spent all day sniping at me and you don't know why?"

"Nope." He switched off the light at the top of the stairs. "Next time I'll write it down."

"You really should."

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**Okay, people, I need your help! **

** One of my resolutions for 2013 is to write 300K words of fanfic. To me, that sounds like a lot but I managed a bit over 371K in 18 months so I also think it's doable. **

**Here's where you come in: if you have suggestions/story ideas/prompts/whatever, I'd love to hear them. I don't write M, but anything else that might stir up a story is welcome. Help a girl out, folks! I promise to give credit where credit is due and be very, very grateful! :-)**

**As always, thanks very much for reading!  
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	9. Storytime

**Happy Double _BONES_-day!**

**The website _Bonesology_ has a fanfiction challenge running right now. Each entry has to start with the line "This might burn a little" and then has to end with one of six different phrases (I won't list them here - you should go look for yourself so you can see the rest of the great BONES-related stuff there). **

**This is my entry for the challenge. Well, my first entry - I'm greedy and the phrases are awesome so I might have some fun and do them all! :-)  
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**Thanks for reading!  
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_"This might burn a little." The wizened little physician leaned over his tiny patient with a pair of tweezers._

"Are they fairies?" On her parents' bed, snuggled firmly next to her father, Christine peered at the book in his hands.

Before Booth could answer Zach, pressed just as closely into his other side, snorted rudely. "Of course they're not fairies," he scoffed. "They're just little people."

"They might be fairies!" Christine jabbed at the illustration on the page. "They sparkle!"

"Mommy said they weren't supposed to sparkle," her brother disagreed. "That's just ark likings."

Smiling over their heads, Booth nudged his son gently. "Artistic license," he murmured, giving the four-year old time to dutifully parrot the correction before he continued reading.

_"Ouch! Ouch!" Dimly began to complain before the tweezers even touched him. "It hurts something fierce!"_

"Why does it hurt, Daddy?" Zach looked up with a smaller version of his father's eyes.

"Because it's magic dust." Christine answered first. "Only fairies can touch magic dust."

"They aren't fairies!"

"They could be fairies!"

Booth cleared his throat softly and the argument immediately stopped. "Since Mommy wrote this book you can ask her if they're fairies when she gets home tomorrow, okay?" He accepted the mutual sticking-out-of-tongues at each other as their agreement and continued reading.

_"Stop wiggling, Dimly," Doctor Thistlewhistle ordered in a stern voice. "You are only making it worse."_

"They have wings," Christine muttered stubbornly as Booth turned the page. "Fairies have wings."

Zach sat up straight. "Birds have wings. Butterflies have wings."

"Butterflies could be fairies!"

"Nuh uh! Butterflies come out of coocoos -"

"Cocoons," Booth corrected automatically, then mentally kicked himself for participating instead of ending the bickering.

"Fairies could live in cocoon houses -"

"Uncle Jack said caterpillars build coocoos - cocoons -"

"Fairies could -"

Another cough from their father silenced the children again.

_"Is it in my ears, too, Doc?" Dimly's squeaky voice cracked. "Sissy said it would make them grow ten feet high! I don't want my ears to be -"_

"Mosquitoes have wings." Zach had inherited his mother's habit of always wanting the last word. "The flying monkeys had wings."

"I don't like those monkeys." Christine's voice was small as she pressed closer to Booth. "They're scary."

"They didn't scare me," Zach insisted bravely, before looking through the window at the darkness gathering outside his parents' bedroom. He, too, burrowed deeper into his father's side.

Booth dropped a kiss on the tops of both their heads. "You don't have to be scared, I promise," he assured them. "I'll protect you from the monkeys. But," he added quickly, "let's not tell Mommy we watched that movie, okay?" He went back to the book in his hands.

_"Sissy was only teasing you," Dr. Thistlewhistle said. "I have never seen ears grow more than a foot or two."_

_Dimly's eyes widened in horror. "I don't want a foot growing out of my ear!"_

"Can I sleep in here with you tonight, Daddy? In case I have bad dreams about the monkeys?" Bright blue eyes looked up hopefully.

"Me, too?" Not willing to be left out, Zach joined his plea to his sister's. "Can I sleep with you, too?"

"I guess so." Booth dropped the book to his lap and encircled both small bodies with a quick hug. "One last time before Mommy gets home." He tried for a stern look. "Now, are you two going to let me finish this book or not?"

Two quick nods followed.

_"I didn't say a foot would grow out of your ear!" Dr. Thistlewhistle wagged one finger at Dimly. "I said -"_

"Jacob said he sleeps with his mommy and daddy every night." Zach's voice was matter-of-fact.

"Well, Jacob's parents are old hippies," Booth muttered.

_"I said -"_

"What's an old hippie?" Christine glanced up curiously.

Booth shook his head. "Never mind. Just -"

"We could sleep with you and Mommy every night," Zach suggested hopefully. "You have a really big bed!" He spread his arms out wide.

"No, you can't." Booth tried to distract them by shaking the book slightly.

_"That's good." Dimly was relieved. "I only have three socks."_

_Dr. Thistlewhistle worked quickly, ignoring the tiny man's continued complaints. "You look like you've been rolling in magic dust!" he exclaimed._

"We sleep with you sometimes." Zach tried again.

"Sometimes, you're allowed to," Booth agreed. Sensing his precocious children approaching dangerous territory, he focused on the book again.

_"Rolly and I were hiding the extra jars in the Purple Grotto," Dimly explained. "One of them fell off a shelf and broke."_

"But you like sleeping with Mommy all by yourself?"

Warning sirens began to sound loudly in Booth's brain. "Yep." He moved on quickly.

_"I hope you cleaned it all up." Dr. Thistlewhistle shook his head. "Magic dust can be very -"_

Not fast enough. "Because you have sex?" Two small, innocent faces looked up at him.

"We are not going to talk about that," he said firmly. He lifted the book with determination.

_"Oh, yes," Dimly nodded. "We swept it all up!"_

"Mommy says it's a natural expression -"

"Christine!" Booth's deep voice silenced the little girl immediately.

Zach looked from one to the other in fascination. "I want to know what Mommy said."

"No." Booth shook his head when Christine opened her mouth to reply and gave each child a severe look. "We are going to finish this book and then it's bed time." When they both began to speak again, he shushed them. "No more talking." He sent up a silent hope that his admonition would work this time.

_"No, no, no," Dr. Thistlewhistle exclaimed loudly. "Sweeping only makes the magic dust dance." He scolded Dimly with a tsk tsk. "And that's why you should always vacuum the grotto."_

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**Brennan mentioned writing a children's book but I'm not sure she'd write about fairies. Sorry, Christine. **

**Happy _BONES_-day, x2! :-D**

**Thanks for reading!  
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	10. Of Petards and Hoisting

**_AN: Thanks to all of you who requested a follow-up to "Her Father's Daughter." Honestly, I was so proud of slipping Andrew in and surprising everyone with the Baby Andy connection that I never thought about what happened next. This is why I keep you guys around - for ideas. :-)_**

**_Let's set this a month or so beyond "Her Father's Daughter."  
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**_Enjoy!  
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"I'm telling you, honey, it just melts in your mouth!"

"Mmmm." Standing in the hallway outside her apartment, Christine tried to make the appropriate noises as her elderly neighbor enthused over a new dish she'd just tried. Behind her, grocery bags hanging from his hands, Andrew nodded and smiled while he inched backward.

"I'll copy the recipe for you!" the chatty woman continued happily. "Now, it only calls for a quarter cup of sugar," she added with a conspiratorial wink, "but I used a whole cup. If you ask me, a little extra sweetness never hurt anybody."

Andrew let his foot knock against the door just loud enough to be heard. Christine jumped theatrically. "Oh, did I forget to unlock the door? Just let me . . ." She transferred the shopping bags she held from one hand to the other and patted her pockets. "I have the key somewhere . . ." She pulled a face of insincere regret. "I'm so sorry, Myrna, do you mind? We need to get this stuff put away. We don't want the milk to spoil!"

The overly-friendly woman kept talking as the young people crept by inches across the threshold. When he realized Myrna was close to following them inside, Andrew blocked the entrance with his tall frame. "We'll check in with you later about that recipe," he told her as he shut the door. "Thanks."

Alone finally, Christine couldn't hold her laughter in. "She's very sweet," she insisted, feeling slightly guilty for her mirth. "She really is."

"Uh huh," Andrew agreed with a grunt. "Bless her heart."

Christine gasped loudly, trying to cover up an answering grin. "I've been in West Virginia long enough to know what 'bless your heart' means!" she exclaimed playfully. She put the bags on the counter and began removing the contents. "Poor Myrna," she continued to scold, her tone teasing. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

The look she tossed over her shoulder was full of laughter, her eyes bright and sparkling, their ever-changing color enhanced by the shimmer of fire in her dark hair. Andrew instantly forgot all about the neighbor.

"I should be ashamed of myself," he agreed, carelessly setting aside the bags he held without a second thought. "As a matter of fact, what I'm thinking right now is probably illegal in five states."

A husky note in his voice caught her attention; she glanced up from the counter to see him headed toward her with long, loose strides. The heat in his gaze caused her breath to hitch.

"Andrew . . ." She lost her train of thought for a few seconds as anticipation swept through her, then her fingertips brushed against a metal can. "We should put the groceries away first . . ." she managed to say.

A lopsided smile was his only response.

Holding his eyes, Christine backed away from the counter, out into the main room. "At least the milk -"

He was close enough to reach for her.

With a squeal that was more laughter than alarm, Christine ran for the bedroom.

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A long while later they were curled together, drowsily slipping into a post-coital nap, when the musical chimes of the doorbell pealed through the apartment.

Andrew groaned around a yawn. "She really wants you to have that recipe, doesn't she?"

"Bless her heart." Christine sighed and reluctantly peeled herself away. "I'll make it quick."

"No." Andrew pressed her back into the pillows with another kiss. "I'll do it." He sat up, found his jeans on the floor and pulled them on. When she smiled up at him, sleepy and sated and lovely, he couldn't resist bending down for one more. "You stay right here," he whispered. "I'm coming back."

"Put the milk away while you're up!" she called out as he left the room. "Maybe it's not completely spoiled."

Plastering what he hoped was a polite but not too friendly smile on his face, Andrew opened the door just as the bell rang again. The welcoming expression fell away instantly.

But not as fast as the one that left Booth's face at the sight of the shirtless young man who stood in his daughter's doorway. In one sharp, raking glance he took in the bare feet and the zipped but unbuttoned jeans and his blood began to simmer. His dark eyes turned hard.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded angrily.

Andrew didn't need to ask that question. He backed away quickly as Booth entered the apartment and slammed the door behind him. "Sir, I can explain . . ."

"You damn well better -"

"Dad? What are you doing here?" Christine appeared just outside her room, eyes wide and uncertain, knotting the belt of a thin robe around her waist. The turquoise silk hit below her knees but even so, it was obvious that she wore nothing beneath it.

A muscle began to twitch in Booth's jaw. "I was in Charleston yesterday. I thought I'd stay over and take you to lunch today."

"Oh." She offered a weak smile. "What a . . . nice surprise . . ."

Andrew tried to ease the tension. "Sir, I'm Andrew Taylor. I -"

Booth silenced him with a look. "Why don't you go put some clothes on, scooter," he sneered before he zeroed in on Christine again, "while I have a word with my daughter."

Andrew's shoulders stiffened at the dangerous tone in Booth's voice. "Christine?" he glanced at her uneasily. "Will you be okay?"

Looking for any excuse to release some of the outrage that bubbled beneath his skin, Booth immediately took offense. "What's that supposed to mean?" he challenged, advancing threateningly on the younger man, his hands balled into fists. "Do you think I'd hurt my child?" Anger crackled like lightening in the room as the two men stood toe to toe.

"No no no no no no no!" Alarmed, Christine flew across the room and put herself between them, arms outstretched, a hand on each chest. "No no no no no. Dad. Dad. Daddy. Dad. Andrew!" She turned frantically from one to the other. "Listen to me! Dad. Dad. Daddy. It's okay, it's okay. Andrew. Dad, please. Andrew. Andrew." Her nails dug into the heavy muscles of his chest until she had his attention. "Why don't you go get a t-shirt or something, okay?" she begged. "Please. I'm fine. Really, I'm fine," she promised again when he looked unsure. "Just . . . just go. Please." She pushed lightly against him.

His reluctance obvious, Andrew looked from Christine to Booth and back to her before he nodded curtly and turned toward the bedroom.

Christine relaxed only when the door closed behind him, then she whirled around to face her father. "Dad!"

Booth was still irrationally, unreasonably, furious. "What the hell is going on here, Christine?"

His daughter had inherited his sometimes hair-trigger temper and took umbrage at the question. "I'm 22 years old, Dad!" she informed him hotly. "I have a life!"

"And that life includes half-naked men walking around your apartment?" he demanded. Fuming, his lips barely moved around the words.

"Yes, sometimes!" Christine shot back. She could hear his teeth grinding at her glib response. The fight and fury fell away from her abruptly. Her shoulders slumped as she looked up at him. "He's not . . . Andrew's not just some guy," she told him, her voice soft as she peered at him with wide, bright eyes. Her fingers played nervously with the belt of her robe. "I love him, Daddy."

Booth inhaled swiftly at the sharp jab of bittersweet pain that lanced through his heart at her words, as she crossed the line that would forever separate his baby girl from the woman standing before him. "No." He fought back immediately. "No, Christine, you're too young -"

"You do?" Andrew stood rooted in place in the door of her bedroom, staring at her.

Christine's hair flew out around her as she spun to face him. Her face paled. "I . . . I do," she admitted as she took one tentative step toward him. "I don't - you don't have to say anything," she insisted with a nervous shake of her head. "I don't expect . . . it's fast, I know," she continued in a rush. "It's too quick, it is . . . but . . ." She bit her lip and smiled and shrugged, her movements a fidgety cover for the turmoil and uncertainty that suddenly flooded through her. "Sometimes you just know . . ."

For all the notice they took of Booth, they might have been the only two people in the room.

Andrew took one careful step forward. "I fell in love with you the first time you smiled at me," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. "I didn't say anything because I didn't want to scare you. I mean," he tried to laugh, "who does that, right?"

Tears began to shimmer beneath the thick curtain of her lashes. "You did?"

"I know you have plans." Andrew kept talking as they slowly came together. "I know - graduation in a couple of months, your letter - you have Quantico and the Bureau, I know," he repeated. His hands went to her shoulders. "I don't want to stand in your way. I won't," he promised her as his thumbs rotated in circles on the smooth silk. "I won't stand in your way." His hands slid up to curve around her neck. "But I'll be right beside you, if you'll let me." He smiled when she did. "If you want me."

"You will?" Christine reached up to thread her fingers into his. His face disappeared beneath the misty curtain she tried to blink away.

"I love you." Andrew rested his forehead against hers.

She sniffed. "You do?"

He held her face between his palms and brushed away the tears that fell with his thumbs. "I want to go to the porch with you, Christine."

She let out a loose, watery laugh. "I don't know what that means." The happiness shining from her smile belied the moisture on her face.

Andrew's fingers threaded into the heavy silk of her hair as he drew her closer. "It means you and me," he explained softly, "forty, fifty years from now, sitting in our rocking chairs watching the world go by."

Ignored, his presence forgotten, Booth could only watch as Christine launched herself at Andrew and was passionately, thoroughly kissed.

His jaw tight, he looked away quickly.

He studied the ceiling.

And then the floor.

When he looked to his right he saw shopping bags full of groceries sitting forgotten on the counter and in the loose opening of one, a carton of milk left to grow warm.

"Okay, that's enough." He forcibly separated the couple, only to watch as they immediately came together again like two halves of the same magnet. Gritting his teeth, Booth looked at the young man who held his daughter tucked firmly into his side. "Alright," he sighed heavily. "Let's try this again." He offered his hand grudgingly. "Seeley Booth." His eyes flew to Christine's flushed, happy face and back to Andrew. "And that's my baby."

Andrew pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "Mine, too," he grinned back.

Booth barely refrained from rolling his eyes as the two lovers smiled at each other with big, goofy grins.

Andrew drew his attention again with a rough cough. "Actually, sir, we've already met."

Booth laughed shortly and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't think so."

The young couple shared a secretive nudge. "Well," Andrew drawled, "I was a bit smaller when you pulled my car seat out of the tree."

There was a beat of surprised silence before Booth nodded. "Meg Taylor."

Andrew nodded. "She was my mother."

Booth stared at him for a long while before he grimaced. "Well, I guess you two better pack a bag." His eyes were hard again as he glared at Andrew. "I assume you keep some things here?"

Nervously, Andrew quickly dropped his arm from Christine and stepped back. "Um . . . well . . ." He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. "A toothbrush . . . you know, for emergencies . . ."

"Right," Booth scoffed in disbelief.

Christine was looking at her father with confusion. "Why do we need to pack a bag?"

One side of Booth's lips curved in a smile of triumph. "You don't think I'm going to tell your mother this by myself, do you?"

Christine's mouth dropped open. "Yes?" she responded hopefully.

"No." Booth just laughed.

Andrew swallowed and reached for her hand. "Your mom?"

Her head dipped. "My mom."

Booth savoured their reaction for a moment before a glance at their joined hands caused another scowl. "You know," he looked at Andrew, "when I pulled you out of that tree I didn't expect to find you in my daughter's bedroom one day."

Andrew and Christine shared a glance that turned into a laugh.

Christine wrapped both arms around Andrew's waist and rested her head against his shoulder as she looked at her father.

"Do you believe in fate?"

Booth blinked, then his shoulders dropped and he turned away, throwing up his hands.

"Well, hell."

.

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**That was fun. :-D **

**Thanks for reading!  
**


	11. Fool for Love

**AN: The _Bonesology_ "And that's why..." fanfic challenge officially ended on February 11 but there are still two prompts I haven't used so I'm going to keep playing. One more to go!**

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.

"_This might burn a little."_

On the table beside the sofa where he sat, Booth's cell phone chirped merrily. With a grimace and a sigh, he aimed the remote control at the TV, paused the movie he'd just turned on and picked it up. Brennan glanced up curiously from her laptop. He looked at the unfamiliar number and shrugged as he pressed the answer button.

"Booth."

"Sir, my name is Lt. Andrea Potter. I'm with the Johns Hopkins University campus police . . ."

.

.

Just over an hour later, Zach looked up sheepishly as his parents rushed into the room where he was being held.

"Zach, what the hell -"

"Mr. and Mrs. Booth?" The woman behind the desk stood up at their entrance. Every bit as tall as Booth, her brown eyes were steady beneath closely-cropped dark hair. "I'm Lt. Potter."

Booth was still glaring at their red-faced 18-year old son as Brennan spoke. "I am Dr. Temperance Brennan and this is Seeley Booth." Brennan waved a hand toward him. "We're Zach's parents."

"What the hell happened?" Booth's angry gaze went from the police officer to Zach.

"Dad -"

"Your son was involved in an incident in one of the research facilities," Lt. Potter answered.

"Zach?" Brennan's expression showed her confusion. "Do you have an explanation? This sort of behavior is very unlike you."

The teenager stood up and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he hunched self-consciously and mumbled in the direction of his shoes.

"Excuse me?" Booth crossed his arms over his chest and took a step closer. "I didn't catch that," he said deliberately.

The young man looked up then and, now as tall as his father, met his gaze squarely. "They were mistreating the animals."

"Zach -"  
"Son -"

"I can assure you that is not true," Lt. Potter interrupted. "Our facilities meet or exceed all required standards for the care of animals used for the purpose of medical research."

Brennan reached out and rubbed Zach's shoulder sympathetically. "I understand your distaste for the process but without animal research, the scientific advances in medicine we take for granted would have been -"

"Who's the girl?" Booth's words cut her off. Three sets of eyes turned his way. His son flushed hotly. "This wasn't your idea, Zach," he continued, his tone sure. "Who's the girl? Where is she?"

Lt. Potter narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she, too, looked at Zach. "No one else was in the lab when we arrived."

"Zach?" Brennan's voice was quiet.

He looked from his mother to his father and back. "Whitney," he admitted. "She said the monkeys were being tortured." He chewed at the inside of his lower lip. "She . . . When we heard the police coming in she ran away."

"Of course she did," Booth snorted. "This is what happens when you try and impress girls, son. They leave you holding the bag. You should have known better."

Brennan frowned at him. "You ran naked across a football field for a girl when you were his age, Booth."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Booth yelped. "She stole my clothes! Besides," he leaned in close and whispered loudly, "he doesn't need to know that! Why did you tell him that, Bones?"

"So he would know that he's not the only 18-year old male who's ever done something foolish for a female," Brennan answered primly.

"Yea, well," Booth muttered, "I was still in high school, I wasn't an 18-year old genius already in medical school." He met his son's eyes and pulled a face. "But your mother's right. You aren't the first guy to make a fool of yourself over a pretty face and you won't be the last." He turned to Lt. Potter. "What happens now?"

"We'd like to keep this as quiet as possible," she admitted, "so word of tonight's events doesn't get out to the more active protest groups. There is some minor damage, he'll have to pay for that and," she continued, "of course the chimpanzee will need to be cleaned up."

In one move, Brennan and Booth swiveled to look at Zach. He tried to smile. "We were trying to set him free but he didn't want to come out of the cage so . . ." He looked down at his feet again. "We went through some of the desks and found some crackers . . ." Another quick glance up and his abashed gaze found his father. ". . . and a jar of peanut butter. I got too close to the cage and . . . he grabbed it from me."

There was a pop as Lt. Potter efficiently stapled a copy of the incident report together and held the pages out to Zach.

"And that's why the monkey was covered in peanut butter."

.

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**_Thanks for reading!_**


	12. Living Vicariously

**_AN: Happy Valentine's Day! _ **

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They were waiting for her when she arrived at school the next morning. On seeing the eager rush to surround the young teenager as she climbed the steps to the front doors, an impartial observer might have been forgiven for considering the waiting more of an ambush.

"Well?" Emma hefted the strap of the heavy backpack she carried up further on her shoulder. "What did he do?"

Madison took up a spot on the other side. "What did she do? Spill, Chris. Every detail. Now."

"And speak up!" From her place bringing up the rear of the quartet, Petra's voice held a touch of whining. "I can't hear anything!"

Christine stopped abruptly and frowned at each girl in turn. "You're all disgusting, you know that?"

Madison hooked her thumbs beneath the straps of her own backpack and tapped long, red nails on the vinyl. "If you don't tell us right now, I'll . . ." Her mind worked feverishly to come up with the right threat before her eyes lit up. "I'll ask Zach to sit with us at lunch every day for a week. No," she smiled triumphantly, "a month!"

Christine's mouth dropped open in horror at the thought of sharing the lunch period with her younger brother. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, that's a good idea!" Petra exclaimed. "Maybe he could help me with geography . . ."

Madison's eyes rolled. "I'm not going to really ask him, Petra," she drawled. "Unless I have to . . ." Her haughty voice faded away ominously as she stared at Christine.

Christine's jaw hardened as she met Madison's smug blue eyes. She allowed herself a moment to indulge in the thought of remaining silent before giving in reluctantly. It was bad enough her 12-year old brother had jumped a hundred grades and was in the same class. She wasn't going to be caught dead sharing a lunch table with him.

"Fine," she grumbled before she pushed through the small circle and entered the school. "Do you mind if I put my stuff in my locker first?" she asked sarcastically.

Emma bounced on her toes, sending her short cap of red curls dancing, and clapped. "Yay!" she squealed. "I bet it was breakfast in bed again – remember last year? The waffles and the roses? Was that it?"

"Maybe she gave him the Zamboni thing again!" Petra added her guess as Christine jerked her locker open and threw her things in with more force than strictly necessary. "Remember when Dr. B did that? Your dad was so -"

Christine slammed the metal door shut, the loud sound somewhat lost amid the din of students and noise in the hallway. "Why are you guys like this every year? It's weird that you always want to know what my parents do for Valentine's Day!"

"Oh, come on," Madison exclaimed. "You're the only one whose parents haven't divorced yet!"

"Hey!" Petra tossed a lock of carefully highlighted hair over her shoulder. "Mine are still together."

"Please," Emma muttered. "Your parents hate each other. Come on, Christine," she pleaded. "You know what Mad's mom is like, and mine isn't sober enough to know it's February let alone care that it's Valentine's Day. Besides, your mom and dad are sooooo cute." She ended the sentence with a giggle.

Christine rolled her eyes. "Oh, gawd."

"They're always holding hands and whispering to each other . . . and kissing," Petra tittered, grinning broadly.

Her face flushed hot. "It's gross," Christine mumbled, embarrassed.

"If I were Dr. B I'd kiss your dad every chance I got, too." Madison laughed at Christine's outraged expression. "What?" she asked theatrically. "Your dad's hot."

"He's so hot." Emma nodded immediately.

"I don't even care that he's old," Petra announced.

"I'm through with this discussion." Irritated and annoyed, Christine stomped down the hallway.

"Wait!"  
"Tell us what they did for Valentine's Day!"  
"I wasn't kidding about Zach!"  
"Christine!"

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**_I love Valentine's Day! :-D  
_  
**

**_Thanks for reading!_**


	13. You're Never Too Old

_**AN: This is the last of the Bonesology "And that's why . . ." challenges! I'm not sure how so many of these ended up in this collection. I didn't intend for that to happen when I started but it seems to have turned out that way. **_

_**Btw, take a minute and check out the newest fanfic challenge over there, the "One Word/One Sentence" challenge. "Challenge" is definitely right! I'm sharpening my laptop in anticipation! :-)**_

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"This might burn a little."

"What?" Booth's suddenly anxious voice sounded loudly through the handset of the phone. "What's burning?"

"Nothing's burning," Hank dismissed the question with an impatient wave and looked across the room where Zach was perched on the countertop, chattering nonstop while Max applied antiseptic and a Spiderman Band-Aid to a scrape on his bony knee. "Stop worrying so much."

"Something's burning?" Brennan sounded as if she were standing right beside Booth. "Something's on fire? What's on fire?"

"Nothing's on fire, Temperance," Hank grumbled. "Your dad is just patching up Jelly Bean's knee - and before you panic some more," he added quickly, "it's just a scrape. Kid fell running in the yard, that's all. No big deal."

"Jelly Bean, that's Zach, right?" Brennan's confused question was just barely audible.

"Yea, Christine is Peaches . . . Pops, maybe we should come home early -"

"No, you shouldn't!" Hank ordered. "You two stay right there and enjoy the last two days of your trip. Max and I, we got this covered."

"I don't know -"

"Stop worrying!" he said gruffly. "There's two of us taking care of two kids. How hard can it be?"

"Pops -"

"Now, Peaches," Hank overrode Booth's objections, "she's at that friend of hers, Kennedy's house and she's gonna stay there till Jelly Bean here is through with that birthday party at Disney World -"

"It's not Disney World, Pops, it's Chuck E. Cheeses!" A note of alarm entered Booth's voice. "There's no Disney World in Bethesda!"

"Eh," Hank shrugged, "whatever, that place with the mouse. Max knows where it is, he's gonna drive."

"Maybe we should call Angela . . ." Booth's voice was muffled behind the hand he'd placed over the end of the phone as he spoke to Brennan.

"You don't need to call anyone!" Hank barked. "I told you, we got this!" He slanted a devilish grin at his great-grandson. "What do you think, Jelly Bean? We got this?"

"We got this!" Sitting in a hotel room six hundred miles away, his parents smiled at each other with a begrudging chuckle as the high, clear sound of the five-year old's happy chirp reached them.

"Okay, okay," Booth sighed. "Okay, Pops. But if you need anything just -"

"Don't need anything. See you Sunday. Bye." Hank hung up on whatever new instructions Booth was trying to give and shook his head. "Your dad is turning into a nanny goat, Jelly Bean."

.

.

In the hotel room, Booth stared at the silent phone and then looked at Brennan. "I'm sure they'll be fine." The reassurance fell flat for both of them.

"I'm calling Angela." Brennan grabbed for her own phone. "Just in case."

"Just in case."

.

.

"Good grief, this place is nuts!" Hank raised his voice and leaned a bit closer to Max in order to be heard over the din of noise that surrounded them. The two old men kept a watchful eye on Zach, who had disappeared into a crowd of classmates as soon as a teenage employee fastened a paper band around his wrist. Shouts and laughter warred with the bells and music of the games, mixed with an occasional wail of tears from an unhappy child.

Max rubbed at one temple as the beginnings of a headache formed. "What's on that pizza, anyway? Sugar?" He stumbled forward a bit as a group of youngsters jostled him.

"Matthew!" A harried mother followed quickly behind. "No running!" She mumbled a brief apology to Max as she rushed after the kids.

"Max! Grandpa Hank!" Zach hurried up to the two men. "Can I have some more quarters? And Jacob? Can he have some, too?" The little boys hopped anxiously as Max fed money into the change machine and then they raced off again to spend their booty. By the time it was gone, they were clutching handfuls of paper tickets and being called over to the seating area for cake and ice cream.

"Now I know why the kids went out of town this weekend," Hank muttered as the birthday boy blew out his candles. "To get out of coming here."

Behind them, a tittering laugh drew their attention; they turned to see a tiny old lady, her hair a cap of spun sugar silver curls, grinning at them. "Is this your first time here?" Dimples appeared in the lined cheeks when she smiled.

Hank responded with a twinkle in his eye. "They didn't have these places when my boys were kids." He pulled out a chair and took a seat across from her. "Now which one of those little cherubs is yours?"

She pointed to a little girl in overalls with a pink ribbon tying a long, dark braid. "That's our Sophia. Which one is yours?"

Zach chose that moment to open his mouth and display to his best friend the large bite of chocolate cake he'd just crammed in his mouth. Hank shook his head and laughed. "That one." He leaned across the table and winked. "He usually has better table manners. He's Zach. I'm Hank."

"Well, Zach is just as handsome as his grandfather," the old lady smiled. "I'm Connie."

Hank waved a hand toward Max, who was approaching Zach with a reproving shake of his head. "That's the grandfather. I'm the great-grandfather!"

"No!" Connie gasped. She smacked playfully at his arm. "You aren't old enough to be a great-grandfather!"

Hank's smile grew wide. "So, Connie . . . do you like to crochet?"

.

.

.

"Where's Grandma?" Sophia held her mother's hand and looked around the busy restaurant. "I wanted to show her my prizes!"

The woman frowned. "Mom? Mom?" I thought she was - Mom!"

At a table away from the noise of the birthday party, Connie nestled close to Hank, their heads touching as they whispered and laughed quietly. Sophia's mom marched over.

"Mother! What are you doing? It's time to go home! The party's over."

"Speak for yourself, Nancy," Connie said archly. "This is Hank. Be polite."

"Mother -" Nancy spoke through closed teeth.

Irrepressible, Hank grinned. "Your mom and I were just talking about crocheting," he explained.

Sophia climbed up on an empty chair. "What's crocheting?"

Hank and Connie exchanged one suggestive glance and then burst into laughter. Nancy flushed red with embarrassment as she caught on. "Mother! It's time we went home!" she hissed.

Connie waved languidly. "You go on, dear. I'll be right out."

Nancy hesitated, then grabbed Sophia's hand. "Come on, honey. Let's get you buckled in."

As mother and child walked away, Connie's tinkling giggle followed them. "What do you mean, write my phone number on your hand? You old rascal, you . . ."

Nancy looked down at Sophia as their matching wrist bands were cut off. "And that's why your grandmother is not allowed to go to Chuck E. Cheese alone."

.

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_Thanks for reading! :-)_


	14. Movie Night

**You knew I couldn't stay away forever...**

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The final notes of the movie's dramatic score faded with a plaintive wail as the credits began to roll. Sitting in haphazard poses on the floor in front of the huge TV screen, one teenage girl wiped away tears as, with a quiet sniff, another passed a half-empty box of tissues to a sobbing third.

"That was so beautiful." Her voice thick with tears, Emma accepted the tissues and blew her nose softly. "So beautiful."

Seated on the sofa behind the girls, Brennan snorted and leaned further into the wide shoulder of the man beside her. "I found the ending to be ridiculous."

Christine's hair flew out as her head whipped around toward her mother. "Mom! Didn't you see how much pain they were in? How much it hurt him to know that he was hurting her?" She clutched at her chest dramatically. "It wounded his soul!"

Booth blew out a breath of air so roughly, his lips quivered. "Well, that was his own fault. He should have told her." He picked up the bottle of beer at his elbow and drank deeply.

"Exactly," Brennan responded. She responded with a smile when Booth pressed a brief kiss on her lips as his arm settled behind her shoulders. "His pain is self-inflicted."

The teenagers shared a look of amazement. "But Dr. B," Petra ventured timidly, "he couldn't tell her. Don't you remember? The evil villain swore he would kill everyone in the village if she found out!"

"So the hero believed the villain more than he trusted his wife." Brennan's expression was skeptical.

The three girls spoke over each other in their haste to explain the hero's motivation.

"No, he loved her!"  
"He was afraid!"  
"He didn't have a choice -"

"There's always a choice." Booth's tone was implacable. "He took the easy way out when he should have trusted her. He should have told her, and asked her to help him fight the bad guy."

"He couldn't take that chance, Dad," Christine argued. "What would you have done, if it were Mom?"

"I would have told her," Booth answered immediately. "Your mother is the smartest person I know," he explained with a wink at Brennan, "and we'd have a better chance of finding an answer together than we would on our own."

"The filmmakers sacrificed authenticity in order to manipulate the audience's emotions," Brennan stated plainly. "They obviously wanted to generate interest in the sequel but frankly," she sniffed, "it was very crudely done."

"They lived in a city of underground tunnels," Booth laughed. "I'm not sure authenticity was . . ."

"Is there any pizza left?" Zach bounded over the banister railing instead of taking the last four stairs and slid into the room on sock-covered feet. "I'm hungry."

Christine dove for the last flat brown box as her brother reached for it. "You already ate an entire pizza! We're saving this for later."

"One slice!"  
"No."  
"Mom?"  
"Mom!"  
"Dad!"

"Let's run away from home. The kids can have the house."

Petra sighed happily as Booth's theatrical whisper ended with his lips on Brennan's. "Christine, your mom and dad are so cute," she giggled, as Brennan responded with a smile and words too soft to hear, and another kiss.

"Mom! Dad!"  
"Eww, I'm leaving."  
"You can't have that pizza! Mom!"  
"She can't hear you, she's kissing Dad."  
"Mom! Dad!"  
.

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_**Insert long, rambling, rant about how unhappy/angry/disappointed/disgusted I've been with HH&Co's world lately.**_

_**Delete all the cuss words.**_

_**Delete entire note.**_

_***sigh***_

_**In my world, B&B live a life full of love and laughter and family. That's the one I'm going to write about. **_

_**Thanks for reading!  
**_


	15. Follow the Leader

_**So, I'm starting to feel write-y again . . . can you tell? :-)**_

_**Thanks to penandra for the idea behind this story. If I remember correctly, she saw it on a t-shirt and thought of me. If that's wrong, I'm sure she'll correct me. *lol*  
**_

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Brennan opened a new box of tissue and slid it across the surface of the center island to Zach. Without looking up from his study of an anatomy textbook she had used in college, the 10-year old pulled one tissue free, loudly blew his nose and dropped the crumpled mess in the almost full wastebasket conveniently placed beside his chair. The head cold he suffered from made his voice thick and nasally when he spoke.

"But what would happen if the presacral vertebrae -" The sound of the front door opening, and the loud voices that followed, cut off his words as he and Brennan both looked curiously toward the sudden commotion.

"You will not use that tone of voice with me, young lady!" Furious, Booth stopped just inside the living room and, his suit coat pushed back by the hands knotted into fists resting on his hips, glared at his daughter.

Christine's fit of temper matched his own. "You embarrassed me in front of my friends, Dad! I'm humiliated!"

"Embar . . . You think I care if you were _embarrassed__?_" Booth asked incredulously. He stalked into the kitchen and threw his car keys on the counter; grabbing for them quickly, Brennan only just managed to stop them from sliding across to the floor. His angry brown eyes held hers while his finger pointed at Christine. "Do you know what your daughter did today?" he demanded, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.

Taken aback, Brennan blinked. "My daughter?" she repeated. "Isn't she our -"

"Skipped school." Booth didn't wait for an answer. "She skipped school." With angry, rough movements he removed his jacket and tossed it haphazardly over the back of a chair, where it hung for a few seconds before falling to the floor.

"No. No," Christine followed her father into the kitchen. "No, I didn't - Mom," she pleaded. "I didn't skip school. It was only two classes, not the whole day!"

"I believe that technically, even two classes would be considered -" Brennan began.

"It's the same thing!" Booth roared, as he jerked his tie loose. "Two classes, one class, the whole day! It's the same thing! You skipped school!"

"And Dad hunted me down!" Christine cried, one arm shooting out as she pointed at her father. "Like a criminal! I was mortified!"

Brennan sighed inwardly and walked around the counter to pick up Booth's forgotten coat. "I'm sure your father -" she began as she folded the black wool carefully.

"You're darn right I hunted you down," Booth snapped. He wrapped his hands around the top of one of the seats at the island and leaned toward his daughter. "Do you have any idea how I felt when the headmaster called to say you were missing?"

"I wasn't missing!" Christine screeched. "We were at the mall! We were fine!"

"You're 14 years old! Skipping school is not fine!" When Booth let go of the chair it rattled slightly against the granite counter-top. "Do you know how many young girls disappear every -"

"Oh, here we go!" The teenager threw her hands in the air dramatically. At the counter, Zach snorted then quickly grabbed a tissue and blew his nose again to hide a grin. Christine ignored him. "_You __could __have __been __kidnapped__,"_ she sassed at her father. "_You __could __have __been __left __for __dead somewhere__. __Your__ mother __would __have __had __to __identify __your __bones__!_" Her chin jutted out stubbornly. "You see monsters everywhere! I was fine! I can take care of myself!"

"There **are **monsters everywhere, baby," Booth said darkly. "I see what they're capable of every day."

A heavy silence fell. Christine looked away from the knowledge in her father's eyes and stared at her feet.

Brennan stepped into the emotionally-charged moment. "Christine . . . Booth . . . perhaps -"

"I know that, Dad," the young girl muttered, chancing a peek up at his still angry face. "And I . . . I shouldn't have left school without . . . without telling anyone." She glanced up again. "I'm sorry I worried you. It was just . . ." One slender shoulder lifted uncomfortably. "you know, Petra thought -"

The heat of Booth's temper, which had just begun to cool with his daughter's apologetic words, shot back up. "Petra? Petra had a thought?" he scoffed, his arms folded across his chest as he glared again at her. "If your friends jumped off a bridge, would you be right behind them?"

Christine's remorseful air disappeared immediately. She took one step forward, and jabbed her thumb toward her own chest. "If my friends jumped off a bridge," she said shrilly, "it would be after I jumped first because I am a leader not a follower!"

"You -" Booth's hand was in the air, one finger pointing at her nose, when the teenager's words sank in. His original thought lost, all that came out was, "Go to your room."

"Fine!" Christine turned with a huff and stomped up each step. "Fine! I may never come out!"

Booth looked up at the ceiling and yelled back, "You may be right about that, young lady!"

When he looked at Brennan, she shrugged. "She does have superb leadership skills -"

"Not the point, Bones," Booth said between clenched teeth. "Not the point!" He opened the refrigerator with a jerk, causing the glasses and bottles within to clank together. Beer in hand, he shut the door with a bit more force than necessary. "See this gray hair?" he asked, pointing with his free hand to the scattering of silver at his temples. "She put it there. Every strand!"

Brennan frowned. "No, I believe you were -" She closed her mouth when his eyes narrowed to slits. "Not the point?" she asked instead. When he shook his head with a grimace, she looked at Zach, who was hiding his face behind another tissue. "Not the point," she whispered to the boy.

With a growl of frustration, Booth opened the door to the patio and stepped outside, letting the door close behind him with a definite click. Zach slowly lowered the tissue and gave his mother an innocent look.

"Want to talk about the spine again?"

"Yes," she nodded immediately, as she pulled the open book closer to her. "Let's discuss bones."

.

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_**Speaking of Bones, if you're a reader of JD Robb's "In Death" series, I have a Bones crossover being published on the In Death fan site: indeathdotnet. (Obviously the dot there is just a period, not a word. Sheesh, trying to disguise links on FFN is tricky.) The story is called "Bones In Death" and I'm 4 chapters in, with probably that many to go before it's finished. If you're interested, send me an email here or find me on Twitter and I'll send you a link. **_

_**Thanks for reading! **_


	16. Kittens and Storks

_**I have a new granddaughter so my head and heart are full of babies. :-)**_

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"My mommy has a baby in her stomach."

Christine and Michael lay sprawled in the middle of the floor, an oversized coloring book between them. Her off-hand revelation brought loud noises of congratulation from Michael's parents.

"We were going to wait until after dinner to make the announcement," Booth said, with a happy smile at Brennan, "but I guess now is good, too." He leaned over and tweaked Christine's ponytail.

"Awww, Brennan," Angela exclaimed, "that means we're going to be pregnant together this time!" She and Hodgins had shared the news of her second pregnancy only three weeks earlier. "Isn't that great?" She leaned over to catch Christine's eye. "Are you excited about getting a baby brother or a baby sister?"

Christine shrugged and reached for the purple crayon. "I wanted a kitten."

The grownups laughed.

"I want a puppy," Michael declared.

"Mommy said Daddy put his penis in her vingina and a baby came out." Christine tossed aside the purple crayon and reached for blue.

As Angela and Hodgins smothered amused chuckles, Booth groaned and dropped his head then pinned Brennan in place with a glare. "I told you we should have used the one about the stork!" he hissed.

"That story is ridiculous," Brennan sniffed, "and I don't believe in lying to children."

"It's not lying!" Booth insisted. "It's-"

"What are you doing, buddy?" Hodgins interrupted what had all the familiar markings of an entertaining argument when Michael stood up and fumbled with the button on his pants.

"I want to see if I can get a baby out of my penis," he answered.

Hodgins dropped to his knees and brushed the boy's hands away from the front of his jeans. "No," he laughed, as he buttoned his son back up. "No, kiddo, you have to be much older to get a baby out. Like 30," he added quickly.

"You have to be 40," Booth declared when Christine looked up at him.

"Oh." She put the tip of the crayon in her mouth. "Then, can I have a kitten anyway?"

"We'll think about it."

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_**Babies are the best kind of magic. Thanks for reading!**_


	17. All In the Family

_I didn't know I was writing a trilogy when I posted _"Her Father's Daughter"_ but apparently I was! So, here's the follow up to _Her Father's Daugher _and_ Of Petards and Hoisting._ I hope you like it!_

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"Well, this is . . . cozy."

Christine's irritable tone belied her words as she tucked her elbows in to make herself as small as possible, squashed as she was between the broad shoulders of Andrew on one side and her father on the other. "Weren't we lucky there were empty seats on this flight." It was all too obvious that she meant exactly the opposite.

Seated on the aisle, Booth grunted noncommittally. As the plane took off, he slipped a pair of reading glasses on and tugged a battered magazine from the pocket of the seat in front of him.

Christine stretched her neck high and looked past her father, around the cabin. "I see a few empty spots . . . maybe Andrew could move to one of-"

"Andrew's fine where he is." Booth casually turned a page of the magazine. "He likes the window seat - don't you, son?" With one raised eyebrow, Booth dared the younger man to disagree.

Crammed up against the wall, Andrew met the narrowed dark eyes and nodded immediately. "Yes, sir," he said quickly, and added a wide grin for good measure. "I do, sir. Yes, I do. Window seats are . . . great. Just great . . . for, you know, clouds and . . . looking . . ." He swallowed nervously. "Sir."

"Stop it." Christine rolled her eyes in disgust and slapped his knee, then leaned close to Booth. "Dad!" she hissed through closed teeth. "You're being ridiculous! He's taller than you are, he needs more leg room-"

Booth went back to his magazine. "He's fine where he is."

"No, he's not! He's just-"

Andrew captured Christine's hand and squeezed. "Let it go, Chris," he murmured. "It's only a couple of hours."

"No, he-"

"Let it go," he whispered again, just before he caught Booth's glance at their entwined fingers. He dropped Christine's hand as if the contact burned and sat up straight.

She was having none of it. With a loud, obvious harrumph, she grabbed his hand back and held it against her leg, then she glared at Booth and silently dared him to object.

Without a word, he turned another page in the magazine.

A loud silence hung over the trio for the next ten minutes. When the seat-belt light went off, a flight attendant appeared and knelt at Booth's elbow. "Sir, are you Agent Booth?" she asked quietly. When he nodded, she gestured to the front of the plane. "The pilot would like a word, if you don't mind." Seeing Booth's frown, she shook her head. "Everything is fine, she just makes it a habit to meet anyone on board who is required to be armed. It won't take long."

With a soft, "I'll be right back" to Christine, Booth unbuckled his seat-belt, stood and followed her down the aisle. As soon as he was gone, Christine slumped against Andrew's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she apologized quietly. "He's just-"

He lifted her fingers to his lips. "Don't worry about it. He's your dad, and he's acting like it." He shrugged. "It's not really the way I wanted to meet him, either." He bumped his forehead against hers. "I kinda thought we'd both have more clothes on," he winked.

"Good thing he didn't show up 15 minutes earlier." Christine wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Andrew's eyes widened in mock panic. "Shhhh!" He craned his neck in an obvious search for Booth. "You wanna get me killed?"

Christine giggled. "Tell me you love me again." Her eyes glowed, her fingers trailed across his cheek.

"I love you again." His smile teased her but his voice was low and husky and she responded immediately.

"Smartass."

Their kiss had barely begun when Booth was back, clearing his throat loudly and settling into his seat again with as much fuss as possible.

Andrew immediately turned to stare out the window.

Christine stared daggers at her father.

Booth ignored both of them.

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"Bones!" Booth called for Brennan as he opened the front door. "Bones, we're home." His keys rattled when he dropped them on the table in the entrance-way. "Bones!"

"I'm back here, Booth," Brennan called from the laundry room beyond the kitchen. "I heard you the first time." The click of her footsteps echoed on the wood floor as she walked out. "Who's with - Christine!" Her face lit up. "I didn't know you were coming back with your father!" She pulled her daughter into a tight hug. "What a wonderful surprise! Are you here for the party?"

"Party?" Christine inhaled the fragrance of her mother's perfume and squeezed back. "Dad didn't mention a party." She looked back at Booth, who smiled cheekily.

"Oops."

"A small one," Brennan began to explain. "Angela is hosting-"

Christine touched her mother's hair lightly. "Is that why the new 'do?" She smiled sincerely. "I love it!"

"Do you?" Brennan patted her head self-consciously. Her hair was cut in a sleek bob that curved just under her chin, emphasizing the strength in the wide jawline. Beginning at the side part, a thick silver streak stood out, accenting the tresses that swung against her cheek. "Your father doesn't like it."

"Dad!" Christine tuned to her father in surprise. "Why not? It's gorgeous!"

Booth was immediately defensive. "What? No," he looked from one woman to the other. "No, I never said I didn't . . . All I said was . . . Bones, of course I . . . It's fine," he insisted strongly. "It's fine."

Brennan cast a meaningful look at her daughter. "See? It's _fine_."

Christine shook her head at Booth, and tsked her disappointment. "Dad, really."

Out of the corner of his eye, Booth saw Andrew trying to hide a smile and pulled the young man forward. "Christine has a boyfriend!" he announced. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Brennan looked at Christine. "Is this Andrew?" When her daughter nodded, she smiled and stepped forward to meet him, hand outstretched. "It's nice to finally meet you, I've heard so much about you. Please, call me Temperance."

Booth's jaw dropped and then he began to sputter. "What . . . How do you . .? You know . . .When did you . .? Wait a minute," he managed finally. "How do you already know about him?"

Brennan looked at him as if he'd asked her to recite the alphabet. "I talk to my daughter, Booth."

"Well, nobody mentioned him to me!" Booth announced, his irritation obvious.

"You are uncomfortable with conversations that allude to Christine's status as a sexually active young adult," Brennan explained matter-of-factly. "I was waiting for an appropriate time."

"No, that's not . . . that's just . . . I am not uncom-." His hand went to smooth a tie he wasn't wearing. "He's Baby Andy," he blurted. "That kid we took out of the tree, remember? Did you know that?" His smile was smug.

Brennan was obviously surprised. "No, I didn't! Is that true?" she asked Andrew.

He ducked his head sheepishly. "My parents told me the story years ago."

"Carol Grant," Brennan remembered. "Your adoptive parents are James and Carol Grant! How are they?" she asked warmly. "You know, Carol worked for me for several years while the bridge was being built-"

"Speaking of," Christine poked her mother in the side, "why didn't you ever tell us you built a bridge in West Virginia? I had no idea until Andrew showed it to me!"

"That was many years before you were born," Brennan dismissed. "It had no relevance to your childhood."

"No relevance?" Christine stared at her, open-mouthed, and then looked at Booth. "Dad-"

"Don't look at me," Booth shrugged. "She promised me a 103 inch plasma TV and I never got that either."

"I did not promise you a plasma TV," Brennan disagreed immediately. "If I remember correctly -"

"Did, too."

"No, I didn't-"

"Yes, you did," Booth teased. "We were sitting in the back of the truck, you said you were going to build a second home and we were going to watch football and eat dip and play with Andy here."

"You may have mentioned football but I-"

"They'll be at this for hours," Christine murmured to Andrew. "Come on, we can put our stuff away while they're sorting it out."

They didn't get far.

"Where are you two going?" Booth's question stopped them on the first step.

Christine tried to sound casual. "Upstairs . . . to my room." She couldn't quite meet her father's eyes.

"Andrew doesn't need to see your room," Booth stated firmly. "He can sleep in Zach's, or Parker's."

"I'm fine with that," Andrew agreed instantly.

Christine's wasn't. "Dad-"

"They have a sexual relationship, Booth," Brennan whispered to him. "There's no point in-"

One eye twitching, Booth held up one finger and silenced her. "He can sleep in Parker's room or Zach's room."

"I am not a child, Dad!" Christine argued.

"You are when you're under this roof!" Booth shot back.

Her lips pursed mutinously. "Fine! I'll just go to my room and let you plan my life for me!" Her hands went to her hips. "Do you want to lay out my clothes, too?"

"Don't be silly," he scoffed. "Unless it's that red thing," he added quickly. "Because there's nothing to the top of it and-"

With a loud growl of frustration, Christine stomped her way up the stairs. She didn't slam her door closed . . . but it was a close thing.

Booth watched her go, then rolled his eyes dramatically. "I need a beer," he mumbled as he stalked away.

Brennan and Andrew were left standing at the foot of the stairs. A minute of silence passed.

"They are very much alike," she said finally. Andrew's broad grin drew out an answering one from her.

"I can tell," he laughed.

"But they love each other very, very much," Brennan insisted quickly.

He nodded. "I can tell that, too."

Another minute passed.

"Well," Brennan said brightly. "I'll have a word with mine," she gestured over her shoulder, "if you'd like to speak to yours." Her eyes lifted to Christine's closed door.

Andrew held out his hand and their new friendship was sealed. "It's a deal."

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Booth stood in the threshold of the open door to the patio, staring out at the backyard. Brennan laid a hand on one wide shoulder.

"Would you like to talk?"

He shook his head, then lifted the beer in his hand and drank.

"All right." Her fingertips played for a moment where his hair met the back of his neck while she studied his handsome, craggy profile. Then she rested her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm going to finish up then."

Booth took one more swig, then glanced over his shoulder. He could see her from where he was, could watch as she pulled colorful, thick towels from the dryer and folded them efficiently.

The back door closed with a soft click.

"She's still just a kid."

Brennan looked up to see him leaning against the door-frame, staring down at the bottle in one hand, picking at the label with the other.

She removed another towel from the warm interior. "Technically she's been an adult for several years."

"Technically smechnically." He sipped. "You know, I practically walked in on them having sex."

That got her attention. "You didn't knock?"

"I didn't actually-" His discomfort with the topic showed. "I rang the doorbell and Skippy out there answered it, almost naked. He was wearing jeans," he added when Brennan raised her eyebrows, "but he didn't even have time to button 'em up."

Abruptly, Booth straightened from his leaning position and began to pace in the small passage. "And then Chris came flying out of her bedroom . . . And I don't know where she got that robe, but we certainly didn't buy it for her!" Another swig of beer passed his lips. "And then I ask a few simple questions . . ." He pointed the bottle at Brennan, who had closed the dryer and was watching him carefully. "I'm her father! I have the right to ask questions, don't I?" He didn't wait for a response. "And Pretty Boy gets all up in my face - for no reason," Booth insisted hotly. "And I'm this close," He showed Brennan an index finger and thumb separated by barely an inch, "to laying him on the floor when Christine starts yelling at me that she can have orgies if she wants to!"

Brennan looked down at the floor and tried not to laugh out loud. Silently, she determined to ask Christine for her version of events then gave a small shake of her head. _Perhaps I should ask Andrew instead._

"And then," Booth gestured widely with the beer in his hand, "I look over and there are bags of groceries on the counter, just left out! Not put away! Nothing! Not even the milk!" he exclaimed. "What is he, some kind of animal?" He shook his head in disgust. "He can't give her five minutes to put the milk away before he jumps her?"

Brennan only just refrained from reminding him of similar moments in their past, of ice cream left to melt and dinners left to burn while they satisfied a different hunger.

"And then!" Booth slammed the empty bottle down on the dryer. "It was like I wasn't even there!" He stared at Brennan, his insult at the memory obvious. "It was like I was invisible! He starts talking about how Christine has hopes and dreams . . ." He waved his hands in the air. ". . . and he wants to make them come true for her." He crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes with melodramatic skepticism. "He wants to be beside her for the rest of her life," Booth sneered. "He wants to go to the porch with her - whatever the hell that means," he muttered. "I mean, they were right in front of me!"

When he didn't speak for more than a few seconds, Brennan thought it safe to comment. "Andrew isn't her first boyfriend, Booth. It's possible -"

He was already shaking his head. "No. No, Bones. You didn't see him. You didn't see the way he looked at her." He sighed heavily. "It was like . . . it was . . ."

Brennan watched him curiously. "It was like what?"

Booth caught her eye and for the first time, a smile crossed his face. "It was like the way I look at you," he admitted, his voice dropping to a low, husky rasp.

She smiled back tenderly. "But that's a good sign, isn't it?"

"Yea."

Whether he reached for her or she moved toward him didn't matter. Even after all these years, the magnetic pull that drew them to each other was as strong as it had ever been, and easy now with comfortable familiarity.

"I want our children to have what we have," Brennan whispered when the kiss broke. "If they don't take as long to find it as we did, I'm happy for them."

"Me, too," Booth admitted, as he folded her so close she could feel the beat of his heart. "Me, too." Then he leaned back and furrowed his fingers into the sleek silk of her hair. "I do like the new style," he insisted quietly as his eyes roamed over her face. "I really do."

"You do?" Her smile was brilliant as she lifted one hand to twine with his. "I know it's quite a bit shorter but-"

"It's beautiful," Booth told her. "You're beautiful." His head lowered to hers again.

"Oh. My. God." Christine exclaimed from just outside the room, Andrew at her side. "I haven't even been home five minutes and-"

Without a word, Booth reached out and shut the door in her face.

Christine stared at the solid wood in shock. From inside, her mother's warm laughter was clearly audible.

"You shouldn't have closed the door, Booth. You know she'll think we're . . . . Oh!"

Her face burning, Christine grabbed Andrew's hand and hurried away.

"First rule in this house," she warned him. "Never go in the laundry room."

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_Rookie move, Booth, telling a woman her new hairstyle is "fine." You'd think he'd know better. :-)  
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_Thanks for reading!  
_


	18. Love Knows No Gender

**_Written for the Bite-Sized Bones Comment Ficathon Challenge at Bones Gamblers Anonymous. TinyLegacies prompted: Teenage!Christine and Teenage!Michael Vincent going on their first date._**

**_I feel fairly confident in asserting that this fic is not what she had in mind but in my _Bones_-world, Michael and Christine are promised to others. Her prompt, though, gave me the chance to tell a story I've been thinking about for a long time. So . . . here you go. I hope you like it.  
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Carrying a casserole-size bowl of cereal, Zach altered his course when he heard the doorbell ring. He shoved a heaping spoonful in his mouth then let the implement dangle there while he pulled the door open. Still chewing, he grunted a greeting to Michael Hodgins and stepped aside so the teenager could enter.

Michael laughed at the size of the bowl. "Having a little snack?"

Zach swallowed and grinned back. "I'm a growing boy." Without warning, he tilted his head and yelled, "CHRISTEEEEEEN! Michael Vincent's here!"

Booth popped out of the family room while Michael winced and stuck his finger in one ear as if to clear it. "Zach," his father grumbled, "was it necessary to be that loud?"

His son shrugged. "Her door's closed. I wanted to make sure she heard me." He stepped around Booth and settled into a seat facing the TV.

At the top of the stairs, a door opened and a blonde head emerged. Madison's eyes widened when she saw Michael standing below, his faintly exotic good looks enhanced by an elegant black suit and snowy white shirt. "She'll be right down!" she chirped, then giggled and disappeared back into the room. The loud squealing that immediately followed was clearly audible downstairs.

Michael looked at Booth. "How many girls are up there?"

Booth grimaced. "I don't know. I think they multiply behind closed doors." He patted the young man on the shoulder. "That _right down_ could be anywhere from five minutes to five hours. You want something to drink?"

Before Michael could answer the door upstairs opened again and Brennan stepped out. Her smile was wide and happy as she came downstairs. "You look very nice, Michael," she said when she reached him. She brushed at the front of his jacket. "You look very handsome indeed."

"Thanks, Tempe." His cheeks warmed as he accepted the sincere compliment.

"You know," she continued, as she stepped back and studied him further, "Christine is the first of her friends to be invited to attend such an important event as your school's winter formal. It's a significant moment of social prestige in her peer group."

Michael's mouth fell open; he looked at Booth helplessly. "Uhh . . ."

From the family room, Zach piped up. "Her friends are jealous."

"Oh!" Michael's confusion cleared. "Oh, right," he laughed. "Well, I appreciate her being willing to go with me at the last minute," he told Brennan.

The door at the top of the stairs opened once more and a laughing, tittering mass of girls spilled into the hallway. The last one pulled Christine out and pushed her forward.

Brennan sighed and leaned into Booth's strong shoulder. "Doesn't she look lovely?"

Booth studied his daughter carefully. She looked entirely too beautiful for his peace of mind, and much older than her just-turned-fifteen years. The black dress she wore skimmed over her slim figure to just above the knee, while the halter neckline left her shoulders bare but rose in the front to a circle of twinkling rhinestones that rested just below her collarbone. His eyes rose to find her looking anxiously at him, nervously awaiting his verdict. His throat suddenly too tight, it took him a moment longer to speak.

"You look beautiful, baby girl," he managed finally.

She beamed at him. "Thanks, Daddy."

Every head turned to Michael. "You do!" he exclaimed, when he realized why he was the focus of everyone's attention. "Very nice," he added as Christine made her way carefully down the stairs. When she stopped in front of him, he tapped one of her feet with his. "New shoes?" he grinned.

"New everything!" She twirled in place, hands outstretched playfully.

Michael considered the height of the heels then winked at her. "Ten bucks says you're barefoot within the hour."

"What? No way!" Christine made a face at him. "I'll take that bet!" Without conscious thought, their actions stemming from a lifetime spent as companions and partners in crime, simultaneously Michael and Christine spit into their palms and shook hands.

"Ewwww!"

"That's disgusting!"

"Gross!"

The chorus of feminine disapproval from Christine's friends was unanimous and so loud, even Zach turned around to see what had happened. Seeing his daughter and her date flush with embarrassment, Booth held back his own laughter and took pity on them.

"Well" he boomed loudly, "her curfew is 11:00 so-"

"Dad!" Christine's plea held more than a hint of whining.

"Okay, midnight," he succumbed instantly. "But just for tonight," he told Michael with a look of warning that was gone in an instant as he slapped the young man on the back then reached around him to open the door. "Do you have enough money?" he asked. "Need some cash?"

Michael shook his head and gratefully accepted the invitation to escape. "Thanks, Seeley, I'm good." He watched Brennan and then Booth kiss Christine's cheek as she followed him out into the cold night air. "I'll have her home by midnight, I promise."

Christine's friends hurried outside after them, calling out goodbyes mixed with good-natured teasing and catcalls until Michael was behind the wheel. Booth herded everyone back inside, and watched in surprise as the group spread out in the family room, scattered among every available seating option. Brennan, he noticed, had disappeared.

"So," he asked slowly, "you girls need me to run you all home?"

"Nope!" Emma wrestled the remote from Zach and began flipping through options. "We're staying the night, Mr. B., so we can hear all the deets when Chris gets home."

"All of you?" Booth silently counted heads.

"Yep!" She stopped on a channel that caused an immediate furor of raised voices, some in favor, many more against. Booth winced and made the snap decision to spend the evening in the garage.

Petra squeezed herself into the chair with Zach, plucked a soggy piece of cereal from his bowl and popped it into her mouth. "Have you finished Mr. Walker's astronomy assignment yet?"

"Uhh..." Zach tilted away from her and cast a pleading glance over his shoulder at his father.

Booth grinned and patted him on the head before he walked away. "You're on your own, kid."

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Christine sighed with relief when Michael's door closed and shut out the sound of her friends' raucous goodbye. "Sorry," she grinned when he looked over at her. "They overruled me when I tried to get them to leave earlier." The car started with a roar of power and she murmured appreciatively. "I can't believe your dad let you take the Mustang."

Michael smoothly backed out of the driveway. "I have to send him a picture every time I park it so he can approve the space." The two of them spent a few minutes complaining about both sets of parents before Michael changed the subject. "You hungry?"

"Starving," Christine acknowledged at once. "Madison wouldn't let me eat after noon."

Michael decided the reasoning of 15-year old divas was beyond him and skipped the follow-up question. "Where do you want to go?" he asked instead.

"Barnaby's," she said firmly. "Let's have steak and cheese!"

He glanced at his suit and her dress. "You sure? We're pretty fancy . . ." When she insisted that was what she wanted, he checked his mirror, activated the turn signal and switched lanes. "Barnaby's it is."

Tucked into a strip mall in Silver Spring, MD, the small pub presented an unassuming exterior that matched an interior decorated in muted tones and furnished with heavy, scarred wooden booths. The line at the door, however, told its own story about the quality of the food. Christine and Michael patiently waited their turn for a table and when seated, ignored the menus offered in favor of their favorite steak and cheese subs. Their chatter was easy and comfortable, full of familiar subjects and shared experiences, and the time passed quickly while they waited for their food to arrive.

When it did, Christine reached for the ketchup first. "I have a question," she commented casually, while she dribbled a red ribbon across her fries.

"When do you not have a question," Michael teased, and snatched one of the fries she'd just decorated.

She ignored his thievery and picked up a fry herself. "Why didn't you ask Jeremy to the dance?"

Even in the darkened room, she saw the blood drain from his face. He froze, hand in mid-air, the French fry halfway to his already open mouth, and stared at her. A tiny glob of ketchup dripped unheeded on the table.

Christine watched his reaction with sympathy. When he didn't respond, she shrugged and picked up her silverware to cut the thick sandwich on her plate in half. "Everybody knows, Michael."

His hand, and the uneaten fry in it, hit the table with a thump that caused silverware and glasses to rattle. "What?" he croaked.

She paused just before taking a bite. "Even Zach knows," she nodded. "And he barely looks up from his books."

A vague hint of panic filled Michael's eyes. "I . . ."

Christine chewed and swallowed. "And if Zach knows, so does William." The casual mention of Michael's younger brother brought his panic into full visibility. "What else are they going to talk about while they're doing those weird science experiments, except us?" she asked, as if the answer were obvious.

He began to look slightly nauseous. "Do you . . . do your . . . do you think your parents know?" He gulped, and then looked as if he'd swallowed something bitter.

"Well, let's see." Christine munched on another fry and considered. "Did Dad threaten to cut off your man parts with a rusty knife if you brought me home late?" Michael shook his head slowly, the move jerky and hesitant. "Then yea, he knows." She used her fork to pick out a mushroom from the gooey heap of cheese, beef and onions in front of her. "Which means Mom does, too."

"Oh, God." Michael slumped into his seat and then immediately straightened. "My parents - they haven't told - I don't want my parents to know yet!" His face was filled with terror.

Christine stopped chewing and looked at him in surprise. "You don't think your parents know?"

"No." He shook his head, rapidly and repeatedly. "No. How could they? I haven't . . . I can't . . ."

She put down her fork, crossed her elbows on the table and leaned in toward him. "Remember when we all went to the mountains for Christmas, and our dads said they were going to go cut down a tree?" When he nodded, she gave him a knowing smile. "Who was it who guessed that they spent all day in a sports bar watching football and bought that tree at a lot on the way home?"

Michael dropped his head into his hands. "Mom."

"Uh huh. And last month, when we were going to sneak out of your house to go to that party at the Cove? Who told us just before we went to bed that she'd changed the code on the alarm and if a window or a door opened it would . . ." Christine paused and tried to remember Angela's exact words. "Scream with the wail of a thousand banshees."

Michael couldn't look up. "Mom."

She picked up her sandwich again. "I heard Dad say once that Angela was a human bloodhound, that she could sniff out a secret better than J. Edgar Hoover." She chewed some more and watched her best friend. "My mom didn't even argue cross-species reproduction or anything, she just agreed with him."

He ignored the untouched food in front of him. "Then why haven't they said something?" he asked, his words almost pleading. "Wouldn't they tell me, or . . . or . . ." He spread his hands helplessly. "Or something?"

"Maybe they're leaving that up to you, or letting you decide when you're ready to talk about it." Christine peeped up at him slyly. "You know, since they're going to have to kick you out of the house and everything."

"What?" Michael gaped at her in shock and then threw a French fry at her when she laughed at his reaction. "Not funny, Chris. Not funny."

She threw a fry back at him then picked up her fork again. "I don't know what the big deal is anyway. I mean, I like boys, too," she grinned around a mouthful of steak and cheese, "and no one cares."

After a moment of shock, Michael surprised himself by laughing with her. "Yea," he smirked, "right, because that's totally the same thing." The tense moment over, with a lighter spirit than he'd felt in months, Michael attacked the lukewarm food in front of him as if he were starving. Every few minutes, he and Christine would catch each other's eye and grin.

"So . . ." The tone in her voice warned him another question was coming, even before she nonchalantly stole a slice of green pepper from his plate. "Have you kissed him yet?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously when he shook his head at her.

Only half-teasing, Michael grabbed the bottle of ketchup and pointed it in her direction. "Don't make me use this, Booth. You know I'll do it."

"Eh," she shrugged and gave her attention to her plate, "it was worth a shot."

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At 11:45pm, Michael returned Christine to her front door. Her friends were all waiting for her, and he suffered patiently through a bit of their pointed, teasing pleading for details about the dance before he made his excuses and headed home himself.

His parents were waiting up, too.

Angela's head lifted from the sketchbook in her lap at the sound of the door opening. "Hey! How was the dance? Did you have a good time? Was Christine beautiful? What did she wear?" She sat up, eager to hear the details.

From a separate chair, Hodgins chuckled at Angela's inquisitive rush of questions. "I just want to know that the car's okay," he teased his son.

Michael looked at each of his parents and in that moment, his decision was obvious. "Mom, Dad . . ." He hesitated only briefly. "I have something to tell you."

He didn't miss the knowledge in the fleeting glance his parents exchanged, or the love and acceptance in the eyes that turned back to him, and suddenly it was as if a weight he didn't know he'd been carrying was lifted from his shoulders. He relaxed and breathed deeply and felt . . . at peace, for the first time in years.

Hodgins moved to the sofa where Angela sat, careful to leave enough space in between for Michael. He patted the cushion invitingly. "Sit down, son," he said to this boy he loved, the child he shared with the woman he adored. "Talk to us."

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_**Thanks for reading! **_


	19. The Right Man for the Job

_**I have way too much fun putting Booth in situations that make him uncomfortable. It must be how good DB is at playing him all stammering and stuttering. :-)**  
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His phone rang before lunch.

"Mr. Booth? My name is Susan Barker, I'm the nurse on duty at your children's school. I have your daughter in my office . . . I understand your wife is out of town for a few days?"

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Forty-five minutes later, Booth entered the inner room of the health office. Christine was hunched over in a chair, head down, eyes closed, her arms wrapped around her middle. When the door opened, she looked up.

A rush of color flooded her pale cheeks before she dropped her eyes again. "Hey, Dad." Her voice was barely audible.

She missed the tender smile on his face as he gently smoothed a hand over the shiny satin of her dark hair. "Hey, baby."

Susan Barker bustled in behind him, continuing the conversation they'd had before he saw Christine. "If you'll just sign here," she told Booth as she passed over a clipboard and pen, "you can take her home."

Signature complete, Booth picked up the heavy backpack on the chair beside his daughter and, when she couldn't hold back a painful whimper as she stood up, hugged her into his side and pressed a sympathetic kiss into her temple. "Car's just outside," he told her.

When she was settled and buckled in, he slipped into the driver's seat and started the engine. After a quick look in his rear-view mirror and then over his shoulder, he headed down the long driveway; another brief glance at the wan young girl beside him had him reaching out to pat her knee. "We'll be home soon."

Her head resting against the window, Christine nodded. A mile or so passed in silence before she peeped over at her father. "I'm sorry, Dad," she said tentatively, her face flushed again with embarrassment. "That this happened while Mom was gone, I mean."

"No," Booth shook his head quickly. "It's fine," he reassured her. "It's fine." When he took the chance of looking over, she lowered her eyes from his. He deliberately rested one wrist casually on the steering wheel and kept his tone light. "I mean, I'm not a woman," he acknowledged the obvious, "but I've known a lot of wo- your mother." He cleared his throat roughly and stared ahead determinedly. "I've known your mother . . . your mom and I have been together for a long time so I know . . . I have the gist of . . . you know, women's bodies, how they . . . what happens when . . ." He reached out with both hands and clutched the steering wheel. Christine tried to disappear into the door while her father continued to babble. "When girls reach a certain age . . . about your age . . . it's part of . . . their bodies . . . you know, it's natural . . . changes and . . . stuff happens . . . " He shifted nervously in his seat and looked at her again. "I know about that so, if you have questions," he shrugged and smiled, "I can answer . . . if you want to talk . . . you know, if you want to ask . . . anything . . . Do you?" One of the myriad of quick, sneaking glances he took at her managed to snag her looking back at him. "Do you have any? Questions, I mean?"

"No, no." Christine rushed to assure both of them. "No. No, I had health class and . . . Mom." Her smile was stiff and uncomfortable. "Mom was pretty specific." Abruptly, she straightened and stared out the windshield, too.

"Yes," Booth agreed instantly. "Yes, your mom can be very specific."

"Yes."

Another few minutes passed before Booth spoke brightly. "Well, we'll be home soon so-"

The heat coming from Christine's face was warm enough to affect the interior of the car. "I think we probably need to stop at a drugstore or something," she said. "So I can get . . . stuff."

"Oh, I took care of that before I picked you up." Father and daughter were now equally uncomfortable again. "I thought it would be easier," Booth added. "I wasn't sure exactly what . . . there was a lot of . . ." He broke off with a cough. "I got one of everything," he told her. "It was easier, since I didn't know . . . whatever you don't want, we can just throw away."

"Thanks."

More than soon enough for both of them, Booth pulled into the driveway. While Christine shuffled to the front door, he pulled three large shopping bags out of the back of the SUV. Inside the house, face flaming, she took all three bags from him and headed upstairs.

She was lying on her bed, curled into a tight ball of misery, when she heard a soft tap on her door.

"Chrissycakes?" Booth cracked open the door and peeked inside. When he saw that she wasn't asleep, he pushed it open further. "I ran a bath for you in our bathroom" he told her, the sound of his voice adding its own type of comfort. He smiled encouragingly. "When your mom . . . well, she always said the warm water and the jets helped with . . . anyway, I thought . . ."

"Thanks, Dad." Booth nodded when she smiled her gratitude and backed away, leaving her alone again.

Thirty minutes later, warm and drowsy and in considerably less discomfort than before, Christine padded back to her own room. Spread out on her bed, plugged in and ready for use, was a heating pad. A bottle of pain relievers was on her nightstand, next to a still steaming cup of fragrant tea. Blinking back a sudden rush of tears, she swallowed two capsules, sipped appreciatively of the tea and slid into the warm comfort of her bed.

When Booth peeked in again, she was almost asleep.

"Daddy?" Christine caught him before the door closed, her voice drowsy. She burrowed into her pillow without opening her eyes.

"Yea, baby girl?" he whispered back.

"Thank you. I'm glad you were here." She was asleep before he answered.

"Me, too."

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_**Thanks for reading! **_


	20. Sharp Dressed Boy

**_(Chapter moved from _Bits & Pieces_)_**

_AN: Written for the "Odd Couple" Fanfic challenge at Bonesology. Pardon me for a moment while I step back into a world of my own creation. This little story is set during _The Story in the Tale_, sometime after Chapter 15 but before Chapter 17 (the epilogue). It's not necessary to have read that story first, but if you did, you'll know where this idea came from. _

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The thin, grizzled old man wandered upstairs and ambled down the long hallway, ignoring the noise of the party going on below and the raging of the storm outside. His steps slowed when the faint sounds of a softly strummed guitar reached his ears. He moved quietly, his boots gliding without sound across the thickly woven rug. The door in front of him stood ajar, just barely; he adjusted his slight frame until he could see through the narrow opening and with one finger, lowered his sunglasses and looked over them into the room.

A young boy sat on the edge of the bed, a golden guitar across his lap. The boy's tousled toffee-colored curls were bent over the instrument as he concentrated on the thin fingers moving uncertainly across the strings. Unplugged, the sounds coming from the guitar were tinny and discordant. Occasionally, the boy shook his head, his annoyance obvious, and repeated a sequence.

The old man watched for a few minutes then pushed the door wide open with the snakeskin covered, pointed toe of one cowboy boot.

"Plug it in, son." His rough voice brought the boy's head up in shock.

"Billy! Mr. Gibbons, I mean." Parker shook his head and started to stand. "I'm sorry - I just . . ."

"Yea, you should'a asked," Billy nodded as he stepped into the room, "but I can see you're treating my lady with respect so we're good. But I seem to remember at your dad's wedding we agreed you'd call me Billy."

"Yes, sir." Parker swallowed and lowered himself slowly back to the bed. "I didn't mean to . . ."

"Got bored, did you?" Billy asked, with a jerk of his head at the door. "Me, too. This kind of shindig ain't my style and when the weather's like this," he added, looking toward the window, "I start hunting for a front porch so I can sit and watch the show." He glanced around the ornate, luxurious room. "Ain't no front porch in here, though, is there?" He settled down in an overstuffed armchair and glanced at the full plate on the bed next to Parker. "Think you got enough for both of us? Every time a tray passed me, it was empty."

"Yes, sir," Parker said immediately . . . and then paused. In order to pick up the plate he'd have to put down the guitar and it was clear the guitar had a stronger hold on him. Billy laughed.

"I can serve myself," he grinned. He pushed himself out of the chair, grabbed the dish and sat back down. Picking up the fork, he nodded again at Parker. "Play something for me, kid."

Parker's eyes went large and round. "Uh . . . seriously?"

"You're holding my Pearly Gates, son." Billy kept his voice level. "Do you know what to do with her?"

Parker glanced down nervously at the guitar. "Well, kinda," he admitted. "Not really. I mean," he rushed, "I've been taking lessons. And I practice all the time! But," he grimaced, "I'm not very good."

"I wasn't very good once myself," Billy said. He swallowed a mouthful of ham, put the plate on the small nightstand and stood up. Walking past Parker, he opened the closet door and pulled out a small amp. Parker watched, his mouth hanging open, as the rock legend casually set everything up. Finally, he plugged the end of one cable into the guitar and sat back down.

"Let's hear it."

Parker's mouth opened and closed silently several times before he squeaked out the words. "Really? You really want me to play for you?"

"You're the one holding the guitar."

"Yea," Parker nodded. "Yea." He looked down at the instrument in his arms for a moment longer, then took a deep breath and shifted it into a more comfortable position. His fingers slid across the strings and a tuneless shriek wailed through the room. Wincing, Parker glanced over at Billy. "Sorry, I . . ."

"She's sensitive, son," the old man said evenly, "like a high strung woman." He chuckled. "You'll learn about those later on. For now, just take it slow."

His heart pounding, Parker took another deep breath and began to play. His brow wrinkled as he concentrated on some of the easier melodies he'd learned and tried his best to get the notes and the tempo right. He looked up once, saw his own face reflected in the sunglasses Billy wore, and decided to make the most of the moment. Eyes closed, he began to experiment with some of the music he heard in his head.

Lost in his own world, time crawled to a stop. He didn't get everything right; often, there were many more bad notes than good ones. For several minutes, he played the same four measures repeatedly, starting over and over again until he was satisfied, until it was right . . . even though he wasn't sure exactly what "right" was. Adrift in the music, his head bobbed over the strings as he played on.

When the final note faded away he was suddenly aware of how much time had passed. He sat quietly in the sudden silence of the room, afraid to look up.

Billy studied Parker's bent head for a moment then got up and moved to the boy's side. His rough, aged voice provided a graveled backdrop as he shifted the young fingers across the strings. Parker soaked it all up intently, his concentration absolute.

Finally, Billy nodded. "You got a gift, boy."

Parker's wide smile echoed his father's. "Do you really think so?"

Billy picked up the boy's hand again. "Getting your guitar fingers, too."

"I play all the time!" His enthusiasm was contagious. "It's all I think about! I hear music in my head," he explained to the bearded man beside him, "and I just want to get home and try to make it happen on my guitar! I'm taking lessons but they're moving so slow! I want to know everything now! I want to play like you!"

Billy smiled. "Took me a long time to play like me, son. Besides, you want to play like you, not anyone else." He considered Parker thoughtfully for a few minutes. "I'll help you out with your lessons when I'm around, if you want."

"If I . . . Are you serious?" Parker almost whooped in excitement. "That would be awesome! Even if it's only once a year or . . ."

"Well, now, I have a new grandson here, remember," Billy chuckled. "I'll be back regular."

"I can pay you," Parker hurried to offer. "Not a lot, but I get an allowance and . . ."

Billy was already shaking his head. "You just let me play back-up on your first record and we'll call it even." He held out his hand to seal the deal.

Parker clutched it uncertainly. "My first . . ." he swallowed. "You think I might be good enough one day to make a record?"

"You want to be famous?" Billy lowered his sunglasses with an index finger and stared at Parker with piercing blue eyes.

Parker shook his head. "I don't care about that. I just want to play music."

Satisfied, Billy nodded and slid his sunglasses back in place. "You remember that, boy. Play 'cause you love it. Money just pays the bills. "

"Wow," Parker breathed. Another wide grin stretched across his face. "My dad is never going to believe this!"

"Never going to believe what?" Booth stuck his head in the door. "What are you doing up - Whoa!" His eyes widened as he saw the guitar Parker still held across his lap. "Is that Pearly Gates?"

"Your boy and I have been having a little talk, Agent Booth," Billy began . . . .

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_Of course Parker grows up to be a rock star. Was there ever any doubt?_


	21. The Hiding Place

_(FYI, neither Booth nor Brennan appear in person in this OS. I know some readers don't like stories that focus on OCs so, consider yourself warned.)_

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It was hard to say who was more surprised when he pulled the door of the closet open and saw her sitting on the floor, almost hidden beneath the hems of jackets and coats, huddled between hockey sticks and ice skates and baseball gloves. Zach, however, who had just that year leaped several steps ahead to join his sister's advanced 8th grade class, was uncomfortably familiar with her friends' sneering disdain toward the young genius plopped into their midst and immediately slammed the door shut without a word.

Curiosity had him pulling it open again. "Why are you hiding in the closet?"

Petra tucked her chin into her knees. "Your parents are yelling," she mumbled without looking up.

"Okay." He leaned against the door and waited.

She played with the beading on the leather straps of her flip flops. "They're pretty loud."

"I've heard them get a lot louder," he answered, in as dry a tone of voice as a nine-year old could manage.

She let go of her shoes and hugged her arms around her legs. "What if they start throwing stuff?"

Zach was taken aback. "They don't throw stuff. They just yell at each other and when they're done, they go in their room and lock the door."

"Oh."

It took a few minutes for the pieces to click into place and when they did, his feet shuffled self-consciously. "Do your parents throw stuff?" he asked slowly.

Petra flushed red, rested her cheek on the bony caps of her knees and kept her eyes turned away from him. "Sometimes."

He studied her for a moment longer. "At you?"

She shook her head without raising it. "No. I think they forget I'm there. And," her shoulders hunched, "I hide."

"Oh." A minute of silence passed. "Well, Mom and Dad aren't really mad, I promise. They're just loud. I think it has something to do with sex," he said, with a lift of his chin that was meant to add bravado and maturity to the words. "Because, you know, they always go to their room after they yell."

Petra didn't know anything about bravado and maturity; she was simply swimming in horrified embarrassment.

"Anyway, they're not yelling now, so you can come out. But I wouldn't go upstairs for a while," he added quickly, oblivious to her mortification.

When she struggled to rise to her feet in the confined space, he held out one hand and pulled her up.

"Thanks." She had always been small for her age and he had just hit a growth spurt so they stood almost eye-to-eye. "Could you . . . not tell anyone where you found me?" she asked hesitantly. "Madison will laugh." Her cheeks burned hot again.

Before he could answer, his sister's voice came from behind him. "What are you guys doing?" She looked into the closet and back at them suspiciously. "What's going on?"

Zach had no talent for subterfuge so he fell back on the truth. "I was getting my notes from Mr. Nicholas' class." As had been his original aim when he went to the closet, he pulled a tightly rolled sheaf of paper from the pocket of a jacket hanging inside.

"Oh, God, Petra," Madison drawled from beside Christine. "Can't you do your own homework for once?" With a disgusted roll of her eyes, she grabbed the girl's hand and dragged her away.

Halfway down the hallway, Petra looked back and mouthed a silent "thank you."

Frowning, Zach watched until they turned the corner out of sight. Then he looked at the papers in his hand, shrugged and shut the closet door.

"Girls are weird."

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_Thanks for reading!_


	22. The Birthday Party

****NOT NEW CONTENT**  
Moved from **_**Bits & Pieces**_

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He wasn't hiding.

"I'm not hiding," he insisted when she finally located him in the family room.

She closed her lips and, wisely, said nothing.

"I just thought I'd, you know, set up the baseball game on TV in case any of the other dads wanted to come in here for a while and take a break from the noise out there."

She nodded.

"Maybe I should make a beer run? You think?" His glance at her was deliberately casual. "If they're going to be in here watching the game, I need to make sure we have enough beer on hand."

"Booth."

"And extra snacks." He forced a laugh. "All that junk food out there, that's for kids. We need man food, right?"

"You knew this was happening."

"No." He shook his head rapidly. "I thought maybe a little one." He spaced his hands about 12 inches apart. "That's what I thought."

"We're going to blow out candles soon. She'll expect you outside."

"No," he shook his head again. "The cake should be last. After the . . . the entertainment leaves."

Brennan's head tilted to the side as she studied him without sympathy. "You are aware, aren't you, that this is your own fault?"

His response was a heated glare. "My fault? How is it my fault?"

"You told her she could have anything she wanted for her birthday. This is what she wanted."

Booth huffed and cast his gaze to the ceiling. "She was supposed to ask for a pony or a new kitten or something weird from your DNA, like a microscope."

"A microscope is not weird. It's . . ." Her words trailed off at his warning look.

"Besides, you could have warned me! So, it's your fault!" His eyes narrowed in accusation.

"It didn't occur to me that you needed a warning," Brennan responded primly, "since we were both with her when she asked for one."

"Little one," he repeated, spacing his hands about a foot apart again. "That's what I thought. A little one!"

"Well, this one is not that small. And I hope this experience serves as a lesson to you on making extravagant promises to our daughter."

"I wasn't being extravagant! When I said she could have anything for her birthday, I didn't think she'd ask for . . ."

"A clown."

"A clown." He sighed heavily. "Why couldn't she have asked for one of those bouncy houses?" He squared his shoulders. "All right, let's go blow out some candles." He stopped Brennan before they reached the door leading to the backyard. "Just make sure that . . . thing . . . stays away from me."

She hesitated. "Where's your gun?"

"In the gun safe," he muttered. "Unfortunately." Outside, a man in a bright green wig and big purple shoes was surrounded by children clamoring for a balloon animal.

"Perhaps you should give me the key," Brennan said beneath her breath as she pushed him out into the bright sunshine.

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_Happy Thanksgiving - even though this has nothing to do with Thanksgiving. :-) I'm thankful for BONES and for discovering the joys of writing fanfiction and for the people who like to read it! Thank you!_


	23. Fireworks

_**AN: If you're in the US, Happy Independence Day! If you're not, Happy July 4!  
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_**(This OS is based on a sentence from **_**5****0 Words/50 Sentences: Booth and Hodgins,_ posted in _****Bits & Pieces. I'll let you guess which one!)  
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The lazy quiet of the hot summer day was broken by Michael's screams.

"Dad! Dad!"

Christine's voice joined his a split second later. "Dad! Dad! Mom!"

The four adults, sitting poolside beneath brightly patterned umbrellas, turned around simultaneously as the children raced around the corner of the main house on the Hodgins estate.

They ran to their respective fathers.

Hodgins caught Michael before he fell over the arm of his chair. "What's going on?"

"Fireworks." Panting, Christine looked at Booth.

"Honey," he shook his head with a laugh, "we can't do fireworks until after dark. You're just going to have to wait."

"No," Michael managed to gasp out, his eyes on Hodgins. "William and Zach - they're making fireworks!"

The smile died on Booth's face. "What?" Alarmed, Angela and Brennan rose from their chairs.

Michael pointed back the way he and Christine had come. "That old gardening shed at the back of the yard," he explained, the words coming easier now that he'd caught his breath. "They moved out the mower and they're making fireworks!"

"Get in the house," Booth ordered both children before turning to the women. "Bones, you and Angela get the kids inside and stay there."

"But I -"

"Now."

He didn't wait to make sure they had followed his instructions before he took off at a run, following Hodgins.

Jack slowed to a swift walk fifty yards from the small, weathered structure and held out one arm to indicate Booth should do the same. "We can't go barging in there," he explained. "We might scare them into dropping something."

"If they don't blow us all up," Booth bit out, "I'm going to kill them."

When they reached the shed, Hodgins cautiously pulled the door open and peered inside. "Hey, buddy," he called out slowly as he and Booth carefully stepped over the threshold. "Whatcha doing?"

A single bare light bulb hanging from a long, thin wire illuminated the room and revealed the two 9-year olds standing over a rough, unfinished work table scattered with garden tools and pots filled with the dried husks of dead plants. A small space had been cleared in front of where they stood, and filling that area was a stack of round, plywood disks, and several wooden dowels and hollow tubes.

William glanced over briefly. "Making gerbs." The adult-sized safety goggles nearly swallowed his face and made an incongruous match with the colorful swim trunks and t-shirts both boys wore. The curly hair he'd inherited stuck up randomly around the elastic strap of the glasses.

"What the hell is a gerb?" Booth hissed.

"William," Hodgins struggled to keep his voice low and even. "Remember we talked about you not doing any more experiments with anything flammable unless you told me first?"

"Uh huh." The piping voice was distracted as he fit a funnel into the top of one hollow tube. "It's okay, Dad. Zach is handling the fuel."

Hodgins threw out an arm to silence Booth before he could speak. "Kinda the same thing, little dude." Both men swallowed audibly as Zach poured an inch worth of clear liquid from a small glass jar into the funnel. "What . . . what are you using for fuel?"

"Potassium nitrate, sulfur and airfloat charcoal," Zach answered without looking up. "But that's just for ignition. For the fountain -"

"Boys." Booth had heard enough. His deep voice drew their attention immediately. "I want you to put everything down very carefully and step back. Now."

"But we still have to drill a hole for the fuse -"

"NO!" Hodgins rubbed one hand down his face. "No drilling, William. No. Drilling. Now step back from the table."

Shoulders drooping, Zach and William shared a disappointed sigh and moved away from their project. Once outside, they turned to look at their obviously unhappy fathers.

"Where did you get the idea to make your own fireworks?" Booth demanded.

"Where did you get the materials?" Hodgins wanted to know.

Arms crossed in identical poses, Booth and Hodgins stared the culprits down, and waited for the truth.

Zach and William looked at each other and shrugged.

"The internet," Zach answered.

"Your lab at home," William admitted.

When Booth glared at him, Hodgins held up his hands in protest. "I keep it locked!"

"Zach can get it open," William chirped. "His grandpa taught him how."

Booth's head dropped forward with a groan. Jack made sure to keep his smile to himself.

"I'll clean all of that up," he said instead, with a jerk of his thumb back toward the shed, "if you want to take Mad Scientist One and Two back to the house. We'll talk about punishment later," he added, with a dark scowl at both boys.

Booth put one hand on each set of narrow shoulders and marched them forward across the sun-baked grass. "Just so you know, Zach, Max is never babysitting again."

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_Yes, Hodgins is still rich because (i) Abe and TJ are living in the apartment over the garage and nobody messes with Abe and TJ, and (b) in my world, multi-billion dollar corporations have protocols in place to guard against one ultra-uber-badguy-hacker stealing every last penny, bankrupting the company and putting thousands of people out of work while ruining families and communities (and no longer being able to support worthwhile causes like The Jeffersonian).  
_

_But that's just me._

_Thanks for reading and Happy Independence Day!_


	24. Osmosis

_So__, __it__'__s __Friday __night __and __I__'__m __home __and __achy __but __every __movie __I__'__ve __tried __to __watch __sucks __so __I __fell __back __to __my __favorite __standby _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _but __then __I __decided __to __bypass __pain __meds __in __favor __of __a __bottle __of __wine __and__ then this happened and . . . __well__, __the __point __is__, __don__'__t __judge __me__. __It __sounded __like __a __good __idea __at __the __time__._

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Osmosis: When one thing seeps into another thing and the two things become one thing. Or something like that. Look it up.

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Brennan stopped at the threshold of the small office she'd insisted on, the one behind the kitchen, on the other side of the laundry room, with the large window that allowed a view of the cherry tree Booth had planted the very first spring after they'd moved in. She'd gotten lost in working on her latest novel but it wasn't that late, she realized after checking her watch. Not even 8:00 pm.

So why was the house so silent? Christine's three best friends were sleeping over that night (again) and if there was one thing she'd learned in fifteen years of parenting, it was that quiet children did not always mean well-behaved children. It was too early for Booth and Zach to have returned from the hockey game (the one they'd escaped to as soon as Booth heard about yet another sleepover) but the girls had to be somewhere on the premises.

The family room was empty. Pillows were scattered and out of place and someone had left an empty glass on the table next to the sofa but the TV was dark and the room was unoccupied.

She checked the garage. Christine had recently taken up an exercise regimen that included the sparring bag that was kept there and, on occasion, she'd found the girls pummeling some poor boy's photo that had been taped to the surface. Tonight, the bag remained unassailed.

She opened the back door and peered out into the yard. Light from the kitchen windows lay in bright squares on the grey winter grass but there were no teenage girls huddled at the table, bundled in coats and sweaters, shivering in the cold air.

She wasn't concerned, really, but by now her curiosity insisted she discover whatever hiding place her daughter and her friends had found.

She went upstairs.

Zach's room was the first door on the right and it was, as she expected, dark and quiet and empty.

Parker's room was the next door on the right. She hesitated for a few seconds before turning the handle. The three girls Christine had invited this night, Emma, Madison and Petra, were trustworthy. On occasion, however, when her daughter invited a larger group of friends, she and Booth had to be more vigilant and deliberately restrict access to Parker's room. As his fame and reputation grew, so, too, did the lengths some girls took to see where he slept, and sometimes to acquire a souvenir. Those girls, of course, were never invited back.

But tonight, Parker's room, too, was empty.

The master bedroom suite, the room she shared with Booth, with the sitting area where she could read before bed and the double closets and the bathroom with the whirlpool tub, was the first door on the left. She didn't really expect to see anything when she opened the door but still . . . the silence and darkness left her slightly discomfited.

Christine's room was the next door on the left, behind a door that was closed but beneath which a sliver of light showed. Light that moved and danced, accompanied by the low hum of voices and instrumental background music.

Ah. Mystery solved.

She rapped once, softly, and turned the handle.

"Christine?"

"Shhhh!" Three teenage girls immediately looked in her direction. The fourth had just put a handful of popcorn in her mouth and couldn't speak without spitting. They were all sprawled across Christine's bed in some fashion, either sitting up against the headboard or lying across the middle, and all staring at the TV in the corner.

Brennan took two cautious steps inside. "I wondered where you -" On the screen, a young man's face morphed in clumsy fashion from a normal state to something resembling a monster. "What are you watching?"

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer." Emma reached down to the floor for the drink she'd put there.

"Buffy?" Brennan asked, her tone skeptical. "That doesn't sound very much like someone capable of slaying anyone." On TV, a band of horned demons attacked a man in army fatigues and a girl in a catsuit.

Petra sat up and folded her legs beneath her. When Brennan took a seat on the corner of the bed, the pretty brunette offered the bowl of popcorn.

"This is the original," she explained. Madison threw a dark look over shoulder, so Petra lowered her voice to a whisper. "They've got a new one now but I like this one better. The special effects are pretty bad but it's very funny and the guy who plays Angel," she leaned closer to Brennan, "is so hot."

Brennan picked up a few kernels of popcorn. "It's a program about an angel and a vampire?" The scene changed to show a flaxen-haired vampire about to bite a dark haired girl in a long, ruffled pink gown.

"No," Petra shook her head. "Angel is the vampire's name, but he's not a real vampire because he has a soul. See," she beckoned Brennan closer, "he sucked the blood from a gypsy and as punishment, a witch gave him back his soul so he would remember every evil thing he ever did for all eternity."

"Oh." The dark haired girl had become a blonde, who was now beating up the white-haired vampire.

"But then he met Buffy," the girl continued, "and he loves her but they can never be together because if he's truly happy, he becomes a monster again." When Brennan frowned, Petra sighed. "It's beautiful."

The four girls, and one adult woman, watched as vampires were vanquished and a young redhead threw off an all-encompassing ghost costume, until Buffy and Angel were alone in her bedroom.

"Doesn't Angel look like your dad?" Petra sighed happily as the two people on screen kissed.

"Shut up, Petra." Without looking, Christine slapped back in her direction.

"He reminds you of Booth?" Brennan looked from Petra to the kiss on-screen.

"Oh, yea," she nodded. "See? Look how he smoulders when he looks at Buffy."

"Booth smoulders?" Brennan stared intently at the action on the TV.

"He totally smoulders," Petra giggled.

"Stop it!" Christine's foot kicked Petra's leg.

"Sorry!"

Hours passed. They paused once, so that everyone could visit the bathroom and the popcorn and drinks could be replenished, but the show continued where they'd left it as vampires were destroyed and love was found and lost until Brennan was surprised to find out just how long she'd been watching when Christine's door opened again.

"What's going on in -" Booth began.

"Shhhh!" The four teenage girls reacted immediately. Brennan unfolded from her perch on the bed and joined Booth in the hallway.

Zach was already yawning, and came to her for a hug and a kiss goodnight.

"What's going on in there?" Booth asked curiously as he followed Brennan into their room. "Makes me nervous when that bunch is quiet."

"They're watching an old TV show about vampires." Brennan watched with hooded eyes as Booth went from closet to bathroom to bed, undressing and preparing for the night.

"No, Bones!" he objected loudly. "You can't let them watch that stuff! They'll be up all night! We'll never get to sleep!"

"I don't think it's that kind of vampire story," she told him. When he pulled his t-shirt over his head, she was in front of him before his arms lowered.

"What?" He looked at her suspiciously.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Smoulder for me."

"Smoulder?" he laughed. "What does that even mean?"

"I have no idea." She went up on tiptoe and kissed him.

.

.

* * *

_Bonus points if you know what episode of _Buffy_ I was watching! :-D_


	25. Things That Go Bump in the Night

He was aware immediately of clandestine movement in the doorway. His hand was at the drawer of the bedside table a fraction of a second before he recognized the small figure standing in the shadows, her bare feet poking out beneath green pajamas.

A twist of his head confirmed Brennan sleeping undisturbed. Booth lifted one finger to his lips then beckoned Christine in with a wave of his hand. As she ran across the room, he turned on his side and patted the space he'd created. The little girl tucked herself into the warm curve of her father's body and closed her eyes.

"I love you, Daddy." The quiet whisper came on a jaw splitting yawn.

He pressed a smiling kiss into the strawberry-scented hair beneath his chin. "I love you, too, baby."

He had just started to drop back into sleep when he sensed another child approaching. This time, he was expecting it.

One more glance over at Brennan, one more silent _shhhhhhhh, come on_, while he moved his legs a few inches to the left. "Put your head down there," he instructed quietly, "and try not to kick your sister."

Zach was asleep before Booth managed to get the sheet arranged to cover all three of them.

.

.

Brennan stirred when the first pale rays of light filtered into the room. She stretched . . . then paused as she registered the difference in the sound of breathing in the hushed room.

Lifting up on one elbow she looked across the bed at the tangle of small arms and legs crowded into the space beside Booth.

He woke with her movement and followed her gaze over the sprawled bodies of their sleeping children. When he caught her eye, he smiled ruefully.

"Okay, so Shark Week wasn't such a good idea."

.

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* * *

_I woke up this morning beneath a pile of grandchildren. Okay, technically there were only two of them but they're 5 and 2 and I'm pretty sure they grow extra arms and legs while they sleep._

_Thanks for reading!_


	26. Sweet Sixteen

*******NOT ****NEW ****CONTENT*****  
MOVED ****FROM **_**Bits**__** & **__**Pieces**_

_AN__: __This __was __written __in __November__, 2011 __before __we __knew __Christine __was __Christine __and __during __the __interim__, __for __purposes __of __my __fanfic __I __named __B__&__B__'__s __baby __girl __Ruth__. (__And __I __still __think __Ruth __Booth __is __awesome__, __but __that__'__s __just __me__. :-) ) In the early stories where she's Ruth, o__nly __the __name __is __different. __My __Christine __is __my __Ruth __is __my __Christine__. _

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* * *

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Zach ambled to the front door, eating from a large bowl of cereal as he went. He pulled it open and stared for a moment at the older boy standing beneath the glow of a lamp that captured the glimmer of artful highlights in hair that was carefully styled to fall haphazardly over a wide forehead. With one raking glance he catalogued the shiny, freshly polished shoes, the sharply creased slacks and soft knit shirt worn under a dark blazer.

"Yea?" He leaned casually against the door frame.

The visitor's eyes flashed but he responded just as casually. "I'm here to pick up Ruthie." His wide smile showed off perfect teeth.

Humor glinted in Zach's dark brown eyes. "Oh, this oughta be good." He stepped to the side and gestured the boy inside. "Mom! Dad!" he yelled over one shoulder. "Ruthie's date is here!"

Aeden stepped inside, hiding his grimace behind the younger boy's back. _Smart __ass __little __geek_. Everyone knew Ruthie's younger brother, the 13-year old genius in their class who had started high school at 10 and was already taking college courses. He quickly replaced the sneer with a bright smile when Ruthie's father stepped out of the kitchen.

His hair now more silver than brown, the passing years had otherwise touched Booth gently. His waistline was a little softer but his shoulders maintained their straight, wide line, and were emphasized now by the straps of the shoulders holsters he hadn't yet removed. His eyes narrowed fractionally as he performed a more caustic appraisal of their visitor's perfect spit-and-polish appearance and toothy grin than his son had. On guard immediately, he nonetheless managed a smile.

"You're here for Ruthie?" He took the hand Aeden offered.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Booth." Aeden tried not to wince at the strength of the older man's grip. "I'm Aeden Walker."

"Aeden Walker." Booth committed the name to memory, then stepped back, crossed his arms over his chest and gave the kid a slower, more obvious head-to-toe once over that had him shuffling uncomfortably in place. "Well," he said suddenly, his tone boisterous, "you know girls, she's not ready yet so come on in and have a seat. Zach," he looked at his youngest son, "go tell your sister her date's here - and I don't mean stand at the bottom of the stairs and yell," he added sternly.

Aeden did his best not to wince when Booth slapped him on the back as he lead the way to the family room. He took note of the weapons secured in the holsters with an inward roll of his eyes. _What__'__s__ he __gonna __do__? __Threaten __to __shoot __me __if __I __cop __a __feel __of __Daddy__'__s __little __princess__? __Please__. _

"So," Booth waved the boy to a chair before taking a seat himself. "What do you have planned for tonight?"

Aeden plastered the wide smile on his face again. "Well, sir, it depends on Ruthie, obviously, but I thought we'd go for pizza and then see the new James Bond movie that came out last week."

Booth's eyebrows rose. "James Bond? Huh."

Zach entered the room and perched on the arm of Booth's chair. "She said she'll be down in about five minutes which," he snorted, "is a big fat lie." His half-smile matched his father's. "You've probably got about 30 minutes to wait."

Booth threw an elbow into his son's hip. "Don't you have somewhere else to go?" he asked pointedly.

"Nope." Zach continued to spoon cereal into his mouth while keeping an amused eye on Aeden. "I'm good."

His father pushed him none-too-gently off the chair. "Well then, at least find your own seat, pal."

" 'k." Zach sprawled out on the sofa opposite Ruth's date and balanced the bowl in his lap. "So where are you going tonight?"

_Nosy __brat__._ Aeden offered a tight smile but mindful of Booth watching, played nice. "Pizza and a movie. I thought we'd check out the new James Bond movie."

Zach's mouth froze mid-chew; a brief glance at his father caught the smirk that flashed across his face. He looked at Aeden. "You're taking Ruthie to a James Bond movie? Why would you do that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Despite himself, Aeden couldn't resist asking. "What's wrong with James Bond?"

"Nothing but," the young teen shrugged and spooned up more cereal, "she'll just talk through the whole movie about how he's holding his weapons wrong or aiming wrong or what's wrong with the fight scenes. It's not much fun, believe me."

Aeden just laughed. "Well, she's a girl. Bond will take his shirt off and then she'll be distracted and forget about that stuff."

The smile slid off Booth's face.

Zach choked on cereal he'd swallowed unchewed. "I wouldn't say that to her," he said, when he could speak.

"You wouldn't say what to whom?" Brennan appeared in the entrance to the family room, her glance casually sweeping the occupants.

Aeden jumped to his feet as Booth stood up. "Bones, come meet Aeden. He's here to take Ruthie out. Aeden, my wife, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

Wearing the same wide, insincere smile, Aeden held out his hand to the tall, dark haired woman who entered. He considered mothers his personal specialty.

"I can see why Ruthie is so pretty," he commented, as he sandwiched her hand between both of his. "She takes after her mother."

Brennan smoothly withdrew from his hold. "Yes, our daughter is beautiful." For the third time, the teenager was examined from head to toe. "You're dressed more formally than Ruth's other friends. Is this for Ruth or to impress us?"

Aeden's head emptied. "Uh . . ." he blinked uncertainly. "No. I mean . . ." He struggled for the correct response.

"No? You don't wish to impress us?" Brennan looked at him curiously as she perched on the arm of the chair in which Booth had reseated himself, a move that mimicked Zach earlier. This time, Booth didn't object.

"No. I mean, yes. Yes, of course, I wanted to make a good impression." Aeden stammered uncomfortably and wondered what he'd done wrong. This meeting wasn't going at all the way he expected.

Booth enjoyed the boy's squirming for a moment longer before he looked up at his wife. "So, how are you getting rid of the body?"

Her eyes narrowed on his for a split second before she flashed a quick glance at Aeden. "Drain cleaner," she announced promptly. "I've decided to use drain cleaner."

Zach leaned forward to place his empty bowl on the table in front of the sofa. "Drain cleaner? Kinda old school, Mom. Will it work?" He peeked at Aeden and bit back a smile when he saw the teenager's suddenly wary expression.

"Oh, yes," Brennan answered immediately. "It would take a large quantity but as it is commercially available, buying the amount necessary would be an easy task, with the added benefit that the purchases would be difficult to trace after the fact."

"If it's so easy," Zach argued, "why don't more murderers use it to get rid of their victims?"

Booth wrapped one arm around Brennan and idly caressed her leg. "Most murders are unplanned, spur of the moment things. That's why most killers get caught."

"Yes,' Brennan agreed. "Committing the perfect murder and avoiding capture after the crime would require careful planning."

"I would still catch you." Booth tilted his head up at her and smiled.

She shook her head before leaning down to capture his lips in a brief kiss. "No, you wouldn't."

"People know I'm here," Aeden blurted out suddenly.

The Booth family looked at him in surprise; before anyone could respond, Ruthie's cheerful voice preceded her.

"Hi, Aeden! Sorry I took so long!" Her hair hung in a smooth shimmer of chocolate silk, shining against shoulders left bare by the pretty red sundress she wore. She came to a complete stop when she saw her mother, father and youngest brother sitting opposite Aeden. "I see you've met my parents." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Yea, we've been having a nice little talk." Zach smirked at his sister, who glared at him in return.

"Yes, we have." Booth rose and put a hand beneath Aeden's elbow to help the suddenly boneless teen to his feet. "Haven't we, son? How 'bout we continue it after you bring Ruthie home tonight?"

"Uh . . . " Aeden swallowed nervously. He searched Booth's gaze, looked at Brennan and then back at Booth. "Uh . . . I think . . ."

"Something wrong? Aeden?" Booth's smile showed his teeth.

"I don't feel very well." He did, in fact, look pale.

Ruthie took in the slightly green tint of his complexion and the sweat beading on his brow. When she lifted a hand to touch his cheek, he backed away abruptly, and crashed into the wall behind him. "You don't look so good either," she admitted as she dropped her hand. "Want to do this next week instead?"

"Yea." He nodded quickly and began to edge his way to the door. "Next week, yea, let's . . . next week . . ."

"Are you okay to drive home?" she asked solicitously. "Mom or Dad could -"

"No!" Aeden fumbled at the handle of the door until it finally opened and he could stumble out. "No, that's okay. I can - I'll just go straight home and . . ." As he spoke, he backed his way down the steps. "I'll just go home . . . I'll see you at school, okay?" He tripped once, then turned and ran toward his car.

"Bye!" Ruthie called out. "I hope you feel better!" Her voice trailed off in confusion as he sped away. She watched his tail lights fade into the distance, then slowly closed the door. Brow furrowed, she walked back into the family room. "That was so weird. I wonder what . . . "

Her words died unspoken at the sight of her brother and father exchanging a high-five. Her mouth fell open in shock, before it snapped shut. She stalked into the room. "What did you do this time?" she demanded. "And don't tell me you didn't do anything because I know better!"

Zach grinned impishly. "We merely discussed the possibility of using drain cleaner to dispose of a corpse. It was purely hypothetical, right?" His innocent glance swept over his mother and father. "I don't know what lover boy's problem was."

With one hard shove, Ruthie sent him tumbling to the sofa. "Why?" Her jaw jutted forward as she turned to her father. "He wasn't even here five minutes! What did he do?"

Booth crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't like him."

"Of course you don't like him," she wailed. "You don't like anyone with a penis around me!"

"That's unfair, Ruth," Brennan interrupted. "Zach and Parker . . ."

"Yea, I definitely have a penis." Zach folded his arms beneath his head and watched the show from his prone position on the couch.

Ruthie sputtered. "Stop it! This isn't funny!" She stomped her foot and stared at her parents. "You guys do this all the time!"

"I don't like him," Booth repeated stubbornly.

"Your father is a very good judge of character." Brennan slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow.

"Ooooh!" Ruthie stomped her foot again. "If I wait to find someone you like, I'll be in college before I have my first date!"

"Speaking of college, have you thought about Wellesley?" The question was only half in jest.

"No!" Her eyes shot sparks. "I'm going to a real college! With boys! And I'm going to go out with them! And . . and . . ." She leaned in close to her father. "I'm going to have sex!" she hissed.

Booth winced.

"She probably will," Brennan whispered, "if not before. The average age for . . . "

"Bones!" She left the rest of the anecdote unsaid.

Zach sought to allay the sudden tension in the room and spoke again, quietly. "Aeden's a jerk, Roofers."

Hearing her brother use his childhood nickname for her took the wind from her sails. "I know he's a jerk," she admitted grudgingly. "But it's Saturday night and I wanted to go out. I can handle him," she insisted, when she caught her father's gaze.

"Well, now you don't have to." He offered her a crooked smile. "We handled him for you. And come on, how stupid is he to think we were actually talking about him?"

"I didn't say he was smart," Ruth admitted. "Just cute." Her shoulders drooped. "I got all dressed up for nothing." One hand brushed the front of the pretty red dress she wore.

"Well, I can't let that happen." Booth pulled her into a hug. "How about I take everyone out to dinner?" He winked at Zach. "Maybe we could go see that new James Bond movie."

Ruthie, her head settled against her father's chest, snorted. "James Bond? That's not funny, Dad."

Booth laughed. "Okay, no James Bond. We'll pick a movie over dinner." He pressed a kiss onto the top of her head. "You can choose where we go, too. Zach's been eating all night so -"

"Hey, I only had cereal!" he protested immediately. "I can eat! I'm still hungry so don't pick . . ."

"Indian," Ruthie said definitively. "I want Indian."

"No!" Zach's shuddered "I don't like Indian, it's too spicy." He pleaded his case to the one person who could influence his father. "Mom?"

Brennan shrugged. "Your father said Ruth could choose." She pretended she didn't see her daughter stick her tongue out at her brother. "Go and change your shirt," she instructed instead.

"I'm going to get a sweater," Ruthie said, racing her brother to the stairs.

Booth watched them run up the stairs then pulled Brennan close to him. "You think we can talk her into Wellesley?"

"No," she answered simply.

"No," he repeated, shaking his head. "I didn't think so."

.

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* * *

_(Wellesley College is a private, all-girls college in Massachusetts.)_

_(Also, I love the Sean Connery/Daniel Craig "James Bond" movies. Yummy.)_

_Thanks for reading!_


	27. Plan B

**_*__NOT __NEW __CONTENT__*  
Moved __from __Bits__ & __Pieces_**

**_AN__: __Remember __in _S7: Prince in the Plastic _when __Brennan __was __talking __about __dissecting __frogs __with their __little __girl__? __Yea__, __well__, __my __Ruth__/__Christine __ain__'__t __got __no __time __for __that__. :-)_**

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Booth was upstairs changing out of his suit when the thin, high-pitched scream pierced the air. One shoe off, belt hanging out of three loops and his shirt more untucked than tucked, he rushed out of the bedroom, jumped three steps and finally vaulted over the banister midway down.

Coming to a sliding stop in the doorway of the kitchen, his keen eyes quickly scanned the room. Seeing no other occupants but his wife and daughter, his thudding heart rate finally began to slow down.

The little girl ran to him, sobbing, and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. He smoothed her dark hair, making comforting noises as he looked at Brennan curiously. Her eyes widened as she shook her head in confusion.

He squatted down to the small girl's level and looked into the blue eyes drowning in sparkling tears. "What's wrong, honey? Why are you crying?"

She sniffed and buried her face in his shoulder. "Phillip is dead," she wailed. "Mommy killed Phillip!"

"Ruthie, Mommy wouldn't kill Phillip," he murmured, rubbing small circles on her back. "Why do you think that?" He stared over her head at Brennan who looked back at him, horrified.

His daughter pulled one long slender arm from his embrace and pointed behind her. "She did! Go look!"

He picked her up easily and rose with her nestled against his chest, her sobs fading into hiccups and sniffles. He walked to the sink and looked down at the preserved frog lying spread out, the pale underbelly a sickly shade of white.

The little girl peeked out quickly and then smashed her face in his neck again. "See? Mommy killed Phillip! And she wants us to cut him open!" Fresh tears began to flow.

Booth backed a few steps away from the sink. Jostling her a bit, he kissed the top of her head. "No, baby, that's not Phillip. I bet if we go upstairs to your room right now, we'll see Phillip playing in his tank, just where you left him this morning when you went to school."

Ruthie wiped her nose with the edge of his collar. "But what if it's his brother?" She sniffed loudly. "I don't want to cut him up, either!"

"The possibility of this particular preserved frog being related to your pet . . ." Booth shushed Brennan quickly.

"Phillip doesn't have any brothers or sisters," he said, looking seriously into his daughter's wet eyes. "He was an only child. This frog was very old and died all by himself. Mommy just thought you might like to see what they look like inside their skin, that's all."

Ruthie shook her head fiercely.

"No?" Booth looked at Brennan and shrugged. Disappointed, she looked at the frog before nodding. "Okay then, Mommy will take it back . . ."

"No!" the little girl exclaimed loudly, clutching at his shirt front. "Someone else might cut him up! We have to bury him!"

Booth blinked in surprise. "You want to bury the frog?"

"Yes," she said, her chin set firmly. "Next to Bullet." Her lips began to quiver anew. "So they won't be lonely."

Booth squeezed her close, hoping to ward off a fresh round of tears. "Okay, pumpkin. Can I change clothes first, before we bury him?"

His daughter sniffed. "Hurry up, though, so he won't get cold." She wiggled a bit until her father put her back on her feet. "I'm going to get Phillip so he can say goodbye."

Her parents stared at each other over the sound of her footsteps running up the stairs.

Booth stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to smile at Brennan's obvious disappointment. "Maybe if you tried something she doesn't have as a pet?"

She considered for a moment. "A fetal pig, perhaps? They're quite small."

Booth shuddered. "I have a feeling the pig would join the frog and the fish in the backyard," he said. "Have you heard of the game 'Operation'?"

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* * *

_This __little __chapter __plays __to __my __own __warped __sense __of __humor__. __And __because __I __hated __dissecting __frogs __in __high __school__._

_Thanks for reading!_


	28. Senior Trip

**_*__NOT__ NEW __CONTENT__!*  
Moved __from __Bits__ & __Pieces  
(And no more Ruthie. I kinda miss her.)_**

___(Everything below was previously posted, including pre- and post- ANs.)_

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**_AN__: __As __will __soon __become __obvious__, __this __is __set __a __few __years __in __the __future__._**

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She stopped at the admin's desk and nodded toward the office behind her. "Hi, Darla. Is there someone with him?"

"No, he's alone," the young woman smiled. She changed screens on her computer and looked at a calendar. "In fact, he's free until 4:15," she added. "Go on in."

"Thanks!" Christine rapped twice on the door then pushed it open. "Daddy?"

Booth looked up from the paperwork in front of him and dropped his pen. "Hey, baby!" he grinned. "Why aren't you in school?" he asked, even as he came around the desk for a hug.

"It's after 3:00," she pointed out.

"Ah, so it is." He sat on the corner of his desk and lifted a brow as he watched his pretty, dark-haired daughter nervously twirl the dolphin ring she wore on her right hand. "The answer is still no, Chris."

She dropped her fidgeting hands abruptly, her shoulders slumped. "Daddy! Please?" she begged.

Booth shook his head. "No."

She tugged one of the heavy chairs in front of the desk closer and sat down with a flourish, folding her hands together beneath her chin in a pose of supplication and batted her mother's eyes at him. "Pleeeeease?"

Her dramatics earned her a laugh but it was accompanied by another shake of Booth's now salt-and-pepper head. "No."

She collapsed back in the seat with a huff. "Mom said I could go."

Booth lifted an eyebrow. "If that were true, you wouldn't be here."

"Well, she would say yes if you would!" Christine insisted immediately.

"Do you have a mother I don't know about?" Booth asked sarcastically. "Because that does not work with the one I know."

"Dad!" she whined. "You guys said it was okay when I first told you about the senior trip! Why can't I go now?"

Booth was already shaking his head. "We said you could go if one of us was available to chaperone. But we can't . . . and you aren't," he added firmly.

"Petra's parents are going!" she said quickly. "That's good enough, right?"

"Petra's father?" Booth smirked. "The guy who thought if he called it Asian fern I wouldn't notice he was growing pot in his backyard?" Christine rolled her eyes. "No."

"Well . . . what about Michael?" she offered desperately. "I would even pay for his ticket out of my savings! You could ask him to watch out for me!"

Her father looked at her in disbelief. "The last time we expected Michael to look out for you, Hodgins' Ferrari ended up in the middle of the tennis courts on his family estate."

Christine's eyes shifted away guiltily. "Well, I'm a much better driver now," she muttered.

"You were thirteen!" Booth shot back.

She sat up abruptly. "Exactly! And I know how to drive now!"

"No."

"It's not fair!" she pouted. "I know how to take care of myself! Plus, I'm not stupid enough to go off alone with some guy I just met! I promise I won't end up on a milk carton!" she pleaded.

"Christine," Booth's face and tone turned serious. "I can show you hundreds of files with pictures of young girls who said the same thing, and a lot of them have never been found. The answer is no."

For a moment, with her lips pursed in frustration, she looked so much like Brennan that Booth almost laughed out loud. "It's not fair!" she complained, slapping the arm of the chair. "You know everything horrible that can possibly happen and Mom knows how to make it all sound even worse! I never get to do anything!" When Booth simply looked at her, she frowned and turned away. "Well, nothing I really want to do, anyway."

"Parker's going to Australia this summer," Booth offered. "Why don't you take a couple of friends and spend a few weeks with him? Zach's going in August, you could go in July. That's better than 6 days in Aruba, right?"

"No," she said immediately. "I don't want to go on tour with Parker again. It's just groupies chasing him and roadies chasing us," she mumbled.

"What roadies?" Booth asked immediately, his back straightening.

"Dad!" She decided to give it one more try. "Pleeeease?"

"No," he responded. "Your mother would worry so much, she wouldn't sleep at all while you were gone. I can't have that," he told her with a lift of one still-broad shoulder.

"Oh!" Christine was immediately outraged. "You're more concerned with Mom being a little worried than with me having the Adventure of a Lifetime?" she asked, her arm sweeping out theatrically.

Booth nodded. "Yea, pretty much."

"Daddy!"

He considered her slumped form in silence for a moment. "How about this - we can ask Angela and Hodgins about using their place in Fiji for a couple of weeks. It's big enough now, you could take 10 or 12 of your friends and have your own senior trip."

Christine perked up. "Really? Do you think they'd let us use it? That would be awesome!" She grinned at him cheekily. "Boys, too?"

Booth pointed a finger at her. "Don't push it."

"Dad!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I need a list of everyone you want to invite," he conceded, "_before_ you invite them." When she nodded eagerly, he added, "And if I say you can't ask someone, you don't invite them - no questions asked."

"Okay," she agreed at once. "Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Maybe Jack and Angela could come, too. They could chaperone!"

Booth shook his head. "Angela is not a chaperone."

"Dad!"

"Christine."

"Okay," she gave in immediately. She jumped up and threw her arms around him. "Thank you, Daddy! You're the best!" She pressed a smacking kiss on his cheek.

"Uh huh," he laughed.

At the door she turned back. "Um . . . who's going to talk to Mom about this?" she asked tentatively.

When he smiled like that, Christine was sure her father was the most handsome man in the world. "I will, baby."

"Thanks, Dad!" She blew him a kiss off the palm of her hand. "I love you!"

"Christine!" His voice stopped her before she crossed the threshold. "We're going to talk about the roadies tonight."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine," she grumbled, then waved goodbye and escaped.

Booth stood beside his desk for a few minutes rubbing his chin thoughtfully, then crossed to the door. "Darla," he asked, "can you see if Pryor has a minute for me?"

"Of course, sir," she said, immediately reaching for the phone.

A few minutes later a smart rap on his office door was followed by the entrance of a young agent whose sleekly styled suit emphasized the heavy ripple of muscles across his shoulders and arms. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Pryor asked as Booth waved him in.

"Yea, thanks for coming so quick," Booth stood and shook his hand then gestured him into a chair.

When they were settled, Booth looked across the desk at him. "Are you still looking for somewhere to go on vacation next month?"

Pryor sighed. "Yea, it's becoming a real bone of contention," he admitted. "The longer it takes us to decide the more we lose the good rates."

Booth grinned. "How would you and your wife like a free trip to Fiji?"

A smile gleaming brightly against his dark skin, Pryor nodded. "I'm listening."

.

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_Poor __Christine__. __She __never __gets __to __do __anything__. :-)_

_Thanks __for __reading__!_


	29. To Heal a Broken Heart

**_*NOT__ NEW __CONTENT__!*  
Moved __from __Bits__ & __Pieces_**

_(Everything below was previously posted, including pre- and post- ANs.)_

**_._**

**_._**

* * *

**_._**

_AN: At __dinner __last __night __the __conversation __turned __to __first __loves __and __one __true __loves __and __broken __hearts __and __what __we __wish __we __would __have __said__. __And __of __course__, __my __first __thought __was__ "__that __would __make __a __great __story__!" __Apparently__, __everything __comes __back __to __fanfiction__._

_I __hope __you __enjoy __it__. :-)_

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Brennan hurried out of the kitchen when she heard the slamming of the front door followed by the heavy thud of feet stomping in a rush up the stairs. She looked up in time to see Christine's door thrown shut so hard the pictures along that wall bounced gently. She raised her eyebrows at her son in silent query.

Zach tossed his backpack at the closest chair and headed toward the kitchen. "Preston broke up with her," he told his mother as he opened the refrigerator. "Did Dad eat all of the cherry pie?"

"Oh, no," Brennan whispered as she stared up to the second floor, her expression sympathetic. "I saved you a quarter section," she responded to his earlier question, her tone distracted. "It's in the vegetable drawer." She nibbled on the end of one finger. "Is she alright?"

"Jackpot!" Zach crowed as he withdrew the plastic-wrapped plate and a half empty gallon of milk. "Way to go, Mom! Dad would never look for pie there." He grabbed a fork from a drawer and sat down at the center island. "I guess," he shrugged between bites. "She was mad and beating on the steering wheel and crying all at the same time." He put the fork down and opened the milk. "Who can figure out girls?"

Brennan whipped the container out of his hand before he could drink from it, looking at him in disapproval as she removed a glass from a cabinet nearby. "Did she say why he broke up with her?" She filled the glass and put the container back in the fridge.

"Because he's an asshole?" Zach downed half of the milk in one long drink. "Sorry," he grimaced when his mother thumped his head lightly. "That's what she said, though."

"Have you heard anything in school that might explain his actions?" Brennan asked. She stepped out of the kitchen to look up toward Christine's closed door again.

Zach was staring into the refrigerator again. "Are we out of hummus?"

"Third shelf, on the right."

"Sweet." He carried a bag of celery sticks and the hummus to the table. "I have no idea," he answered. "I'm a 13-year old senior. Nobody talks to me." When Brennan transferred her attention to him, he quickly swallowed the bite he'd just taken. "That was not a desperate cry for attention, Mom," he said as firmly as a boy with a voice that cracked mid-sentence could. "I'm perfectly happy . . . in the basement with my Dungeons & Dragons stuff." His mouth curled up in the lopsided grin he'd inherited from his father. "Never mind," he waved a celery stick when her brow furrowed in confusion. "I'll tell Dad to explain it to you."

"Perhaps we should go upstairs and talk to her," Brennan worried at her bottom lip. "As a family, to show our support, because this is her first experience with rejection."

Zach looked at his mother in alarm, a half-eaten celery stick poking out of his mouth. "We?" He shook his head and tried to chew fast. "No," he choked out on a gasp when his mouth was empty. "No, Mom. There's no "we" there. That's a girl thing."

"It is?" Brennan looked anxiously at the ceiling as if she could see directly into her daughter's bedroom.

"Definitely," Zach insisted. "You should go up and talk to her. I should stay down here." He used another piece of celery to dig out a huge bite of hummus, slid off the stool to search through a nearby drawer, came back with a knife and began to slice an apple from the basket in front of him. "Where it's safe."

"Yes, I should," Brennan took a deep breath and seemed to suddenly see the array of dishes and food in front of her son. "Zach Henry!" she exclaimed. "We're having dinner in less than two hours! Stop eating!"

"But I'm hungry now!" he complained around a mouth full of apple.

"And you will clean this up," she added for good measure, waving a hand over the island as she left the kitchen.

.

.

.

Brennan stood outside her daughter's closed door and leaned in, listening for the sound of weeping. When she didn't hear anything, she knocked softly.

"Christine? It's your mother." She grimaced at the white painted wood. "I'm sure you already knew that," she mumbled.

"Go away." The tear-stained voice was clearly audible through the barrier.

Brennan turned the knob slowly and opened the door a few inches. "Did you mean that literally," she asked as she peeked in, "or is it a verbal manifestation of your emotional state at present?"

Christine laughed once, unwillingly, and scrambled up from her prone position on the bed to curl up at the head, knees tucked beneath her chin as she swiped at her damp cheeks. Brennan sat at her daughter's feet and looked on her obvious sadness with dismay.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she said sympathetically, resting a hand on the foot closest to her and patting it gently.

"Zach told you?" Christine sniffed, her bright blue eyes rimmed in red from her crying jag.

"Yes."

"He's an asshole," the teenager muttered, looking away from her mother as she swore.

"Well, I asked him to tell me what was wrong," Brennan defended him automatically. "I heard the door slam and-"

"No, Mom," Christine interrupted. "Preston. He's the asshole, not Zach."

"Ah," Brennan nodded. "Of course."

"He didn't even tell me why!" the young girl burst out. "He just walked up to me after last period and . . ."

.

.

.

"Whoa there, buddy," Booth ruffled his son's dark hair as he entered the kitchen. "Save some room for dinner. Hey!" he grabbed the empty pie plate. "Where did that come from? Your mother told me it was all gone!"

"It was," his son grinned. "Except for what she saved for me!"

"She's hiding pie from me now?" Booth asked in mock outrage. "Where?"

"Well, I'm not going to tell you," Zach elbowed him in the side playfully. "Then it wouldn't be a good hiding place anymore."

"Obviously we need to have a talk about her misplaced loyalties," Booth grumbled as he stuck a glass under the tap and filled it with water. "Where is everyone?" He leaned against the sink as he drank.

Zach pointed to the ceiling with a slice of apple. "Mom's upstairs with Chris. Preston broke up with her."

"What?" Booth followed the direction of the apple slice. "Why?"

Zach shrugged. "Because he's an a- a jerk?" he corrected himself quickly.

"Damn." Booth set the glass on the counter with a snap. "Is she okay?"

"I don't know. She was crying and yelling and hitting stuff on the way home. Is that normal?"

"Damn," Booth said again. "I knew I didn't like that kid." He paused on his way out of the kitchen. "Stop eating or you'll ruin your dinner," he told his son. "And clean all that up."

He could see Christine's door standing several inches ajar and as he neared the top of the stairs, the soft murmur of voices reached him. His steps slowed automatically as he hesitated, not sure if his presence was necessary but unwilling to allow his baby girl to be unhappy without doing _something_ about it. Looking for a sign as to what he should do next, he listened in shamelessly.

" . . . you don't understand, Mom," Christine sniffled piteously. "You and Dad have this great love story. You don't know what it's like to have a broken heart."

Brennan brushed her daughter's dark hair away from her face. "Your father broke my heart once," she admitted softly.

"What?" Christine's eyes opened wide.

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "Not deliberately," she added quickly. "Or maliciously but . . . yes. However, I broke his first so, in a way, I suppose it was fair."

"You broke Daddy's heart?" Christine looked at her mother as if she'd never seen her before. "Why?"

Brennan shifted uneasily. "I was . . . frightened." Christine's fascinated gaze warned her that this story, once begun, would have to be told completely. "Your father wanted our . . . our friendship to become something else, something more than what it was and . . . I was afraid," she shrugged. "I was afraid I couldn't be what he needed, that I couldn't love him the way he should be loved. And," she took a deep breath, "I was afraid that if I failed, I would lose his friendship, too." She smiled ruefully. "I wasn't strong enough or . . . or brave enough to take that risk. So, I said no."

"And that's when he broke your heart, too?" Christine asked breathlessly. "He left you?"

"No." Brennan smiled and shook her head. "He stayed."

"He stayed?" Christine's jaw dropped. "Why?"

"I don't know." Brennan stared beyond her clasped hands and into the past. "I don't know. And I didn't realize until . . . until later how hard that must have been for him. But he stayed," she told their daughter. "He stayed until I ran away. And then," she rolled her eyes, "and then we ended up on opposite sides of the world. For a long time."

Christine folded her legs in front of her and rested her chin in one hand, all of her earlier misery lost in the history Brennan was sharing for the first time. "Was that when he met the woman on TV, the one with the bad plastic surgery?"

"Well this was before-" Brennan couldn't help but chuckle at Christine's avid expression. "At the time, she was very pretty," she said generously. "But yes, that's when he met her. And unfortunately for me," she continued, plucking at the comforter uncomfortably, "that's also when I realized how I felt about your father."

"Oh, no!" Christine's eyes grew round. "What'd you do?"

"I told him," Brennan said simply.

"And he broke up with her and then you guys got together?" Christine smiled at her version of happy ever after.

"No," Brennan shook her head and smiled sadly. "No. He loved her," she explained. "He told me I was too late."

Christine's shocked gasp was loud as she reached for her mother's hand, completely forgetting in that moment that her parents had been together for all of her 17 years. "Mom!" she breathed out, horror-stricken. "Mom, that's awful!"

"It was," Brennan agreed, the ghost of remembered pain on her face as she held Christine's hand between both of hers. "I had always scoffed at the use of _broken __heart_ as a metaphor. The heart is a muscle," she explained obviously, "and it can't be broken. And if it could, it would be fatal. A person couldn't physically survive with a broken heart. But I was wrong." She squeezed the smaller fingers in hers. "Broken hearts are real, and you can live with one."

Christine's eyes welled up again, this time with sympathy. "What did you do?"

Brennan smiled and ran a hand over her daughter's hair again. "It was very painful," she acknowledged simply. "There were days when it hurt just to breathe. But," she shrugged, "I did what I had to do. I got up every morning and I went to the lab and I worked and I . . . I adjusted."

"And Dad?" Christine asked. "The woman on TV?"

Brennan hesitated. "They realized they wanted different things from life," she said finally. "And then several months later, your father and I were . . . finally . . . in the same place at the same time. At the right time," she smiled. "And now we have you and Zach and Parker . . . we have a family."

Her daughter slumped back against the headboard. "Maybe my heart's not really broken," she mumbled. "I'm more mad than anything else. I guess I didn't really love Preston." Her shoulders drooped as she picked at her fingernails.

Brennan squeezed her knee. "Your father told me once that we could love several people in a lifetime but there would always be one whom we loved the most. Perhaps you did love Preston, just a little." She lifted Christine's chin with one finger. "But you haven't met the person you'll love the most. Yet."

Blue eyes met blue eyes. "Thanks, Mom." Her expression lightened fractionally. "Do you think Dad would take me to the firing range tomorrow? I think I'd feel a lot better if I could shoot something."

Brennan laughed. "I'm sure he-"

Booth rapped sharply on the door before pushing it fully open. "Is this party just for girls or can I come in?"

Christine took one look at her father and burst into a fresh set of tears. "Daddy!" she wailed loudly and propelled herself off the bed and into his arms. He hugged her close and kissed her hair, murmuring softly and rubbing circles into her back while over her shoulder he looked at Brennan, his eyes dark and fathomless.

Her gaze slipped to the doorway and back.

He nodded infinitesimally.

Her lips twisted in a tiny smile of apology, in case he needed one.

He shook his head in the briefest of movements. He didn't.

When the storm of weeping had passed, Booth leaned back from Christine and smiled sympathetically at her splotchy face. "I'm sorry, baby."

She sniffed. "I know. Thanks."

"You want me to beat him up for you?" he offered with a half smile.

She laughed and wiped her cheeks. "No, but . . ." She played with his tie and peeped up at him from beneath her lashes. "Could we go to the firing range tomorrow?" Her eyes narrowed bitterly. "I could put his picture on a target and-"

Booth cleared his throat to avoid laughing. "I'll take you to the range, sweetheart, but the picture?" He shook his head with a grimace.

"Not a good idea?" Christine asked with false innocence.

"No." He did laugh then, right before he pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "I don't think so." He glanced at his watch and then at his girls. "I hate to bring this up, but we have to leave in 45 minutes so . . ."

"Oh, my face!" Christine exclaimed in horror. She pulled out of his hug and raced to the bathroom to make emergency repairs.

Brennan stood up, laughing softly. "How long were you there?" she asked, nodding at the doorway as she approached him.

"Long enough." Booth reached for her hand and pulled her close. "I stayed, Bones," he told her as he bracketed her face within his large, strong hands, "because I loved you. I came back," he said, his eyes intent on hers, "because I loved you. When I didn't want to love you," he smiled, "I still loved you." His fingers tightened beneath her hair. "You will always be the one I love the most."

Brennan covered one of his hands with hers and smiled. "As will you."

"Excuse me!" Christine's peevish tones broke them apart minutes later. "Do you mind? I have a broken heart!" she whined. "I don't want to see you two making out right now! Have some respect for my pain!" she said, spreading her hand across her chest dramatically. "Geez!" She brushed past them into her bedroom.

"Sorry, honey," Booth grinned, then nudged Brennan with one arm. "Later," he promised in a soft murmur.

She grinned. "Later," she agreed.

"I can hear you!" Christine grumbled. She put one hand on each of their shoulders and pushed them past her threshold. "Go away. Go . . . go somewhere else. Geez." The door closed firmly.

They looked at each other and laughed, then came together for another kiss. Booth looked at his watch again. "We have time-"

"No, we don't," Brennan disagreed, pulling out of his arms. "We definitely don't."

He grabbed for her again. "Let's leave early then," he suggested as he nuzzled into her neck. "Before dessert."

Christine's door flew open. "I can still hear you!" she hissed. "Go away!" She closed it again sharply.

"Maybe we should go somewhere else," Brennan suggested with a sultry grin.

"I thought you said-"

"Hey!" Zach yelled from the bottom of the stairs. "When are we leaving? I'm starving!"

Booth and Brennan looked at each other and sighed.

"Later," Booth promised.

"Absolutely," Brennan agreed.

.

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_Thank __you __for __reading__!_


	30. Lay 'Em On the Table

_*****__**NOT **__**NEW **__**CONTENT**__**!*  
Moved **__**from **__**Bits**__** & **__**Pieces**_

_(Everything below was previously posted, including pre- and post- ANs.)_

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_Confession__: __I__'__m __a __little __hung over __and __I__'__m __feeling __a __bit __puckish__. __That__'__s __probably __not __a __good __combination__. :-)_

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Brennan climbed out of the pool and, dripping water, padded over to the small, talkative group seated at one of the outdoor tables scattered around the Olympic-sized pool on the Hodgins family estate. Shivering a bit as the water on her skin evaporated in the warm sun, she accepted the brightly patterned beach towel Booth offered and patted her arms and shoulders dry.

"Where are the children?" she asked suddenly, cutting into the laughter. Zach and William, Angela and Hodgins' youngest son, shared the same portable crib and slept peacefully in the shade, but the two older kids were nowhere to be seen.

"They went inside to get the rest of the water balloons." Angela stood up. "They probably got distracted in the playroom. I was going in for more ice, anyway, so I'll check."

"Thanks, Angela," Brennan said. "I don't want them to leave the first floor and get lost again."

"Ugh, don't remind me," she responded with a roll of her eyes as she picked up the covered ice bucket. "I'll send 'em out."

It took her a few minutes to walk the path that separated the pool from the main house. Once inside the cool, brightly lit kitchen she set the container on the first counter she passed and headed deeper into the house.

"Michael?" she called. "Christine?"

The playroom she and Hodgins had furnished for use during their random visits was empty.

"Okay, kids, fun time is over," she frowned. "One, two, three! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

When she stepped back into the hallway the first faint murmur of high-pitched little voices reached her ear. Relieved, she followed the sound until she reached the open door of the library.

"That's why I'm a boy and you're a girl." Michael's voice came from somewhere to the right.

Angela's eyes popped wide as she threaded her way through the heavy, dark leather furniture in search of the two children.

She found them seated on the floor in front of one of the walls of books, one large volume opened flat beneath their hands, a rainbow of deflated balloons scattered around them like multicolored earthworms. The book was a history of art and the photo currently holding their rapt attention was of Michelangelo's _David__._

Christine scoffed. "I know what a penis is. My mommy told me!"

"Well," Michael raised his chin with an air of superiority. "I have one and you don't. Because you're a girl."

"So?" she sneered right back. "I have a vingina and you don't. Because you're a boy!"

"Yea, well I can pee standing up!" Michael announced proudly.

"I can, too!" Christine shot back and then looked away. "But my mommy says I'm not s'posed to."

Angela covered her mouth as her shoulders shook with silent laughter. _Where __is __my __camera __when __I __need __it__?_

"Why is his so little?" Christine asked, pointing at the photo of the statue.

"That was back in the olden days," Michael explained, with all the solemn wisdom of his five years. "Everything was little in the olden days. But my daddy's is really big and he said mine would get big, too."

Christine was immediately on the offensive. "Well, I bet my daddy's is bigger!"

"Nuh uh!" Michael glared. "My daddy's is bigger!"

Christine shoved him to his back. "No, it's not!"

Angela erupted in laughter, even as she pulled the two wrestling kids apart. "Okay," she managed, "I think it's time-"

"Mommy!" Michael grabbed the hem of her shorts. "Isn't Daddy's penis bigger than Seeley's?"

He stuck his tongue out at Christine.

Biting her tongue and trying to look severe, Angela tried to deflect them. "Okay, as much as I would love to know the answer to that question, let's not ask it. Why don't we just put the book away-"

"I'm gonna ask my daddy!" Christine pushed him once more for good measure and raced out of the room.

"I'm going to ask first!" Michael yelled as he chased after her.

"No!" Angela exclaimed as she tried to catch them. "Christine! Michael!" She banged her knee against a heavy footrest in her haste to stop them. "Oh, hell," she muttered and started to laugh again. "Wait for me!"

Relaxing beside the pool, the three adults heard the door at the house slam once and again seconds later as the two children ran down the path.

"Daddy!"

"Daddy!"

Booth and Hodgins turned just in time to stop the two small bodies hurtling over the grass from knocking them out of their respective chairs. Angela was a close third, her efforts to run hampered by the laughter that doubled her over.

"Hey, what's up, little dude?" Hodgins asked, his hand on Michael's shoulder.

Before Michael could answer, Christine climbed up into Booth's lap. "Daddy, Michael said his daddy's penis is bigger than yours. That's not true, is it?"

Booth was just setting his beer on the table next to him and immediately began to choke.

"Yes, it is!" Michael yelled. In the portable crib, the two smaller babies stirred restlessly. "Tell her, Daddy! Tell her how big yours is!"

Angela sank to her knees laughing.

"What in the-"

"Angela!" Brennan's shocked gasp over rode the sound of her beating on Booth's back as his coughing fit continued.

Angela waved a hand in the air as she tried to speak. "It wasn't me," she got out in the middle of guffaws. "It wasn't . . ." She wiped her eyes and looked at the three of them and immediately went off again. "If you could see your faces . . . "

"But Daddy . . ."

Hodgins cleared his throat and took both of Michael's shoulders in his hands. "Son," he began but before he could go any further, Angela's merriment infected him and he started to laugh, too.

"Daddy, what's so funny . . ."

Able to breathe again, Booth looked into his daughter's serious blue eyes. "Honey, remember when we talked about the private areas of your body and . . . and . . ." He gave up. "Your mother will explain it to you."

"Booth!"

Angela finally got herself under control and stood up. "I think I tore a muscle laughing," she said, holding on to her side.

"Maybe I should start the grill now," Hodgins stood up. "It sounds like a good time, you think?" He grinned at Michael. "You want to help me start the grill?"

"Yea!" Michael said, immediately distracted. "Can we have hot dogs?"

Angela fell into peals of laughter again.

Hodgins threw her into the pool.

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_Insert __your __own __PG__-__rated __author__'__s __note __here __because __everything __I__'__ve __come __up __with __is __unprintable__. :-__D_

_Thanks __for __reading__!_


	31. Family Traditions

_*****__**NOT **__**NEW **__**CONTENT**__**!*  
Moved **__**from **__**Bits**__** & **__**Pieces**_

___(Everything below was previously posted, including pre- and post- ANs.)_

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On their last night before going home, they decided to stay in and have dinner in the beachfront house they'd rented for the past two weeks. While Hank snoozed on a lounger in a shaded corner of the wrap-around porch, Max supervised Christine and Zach as they set plates and silverware on an umbrella-topped table and inside, Booth and Brennan put the final touches on the meal.

Suddenly a thin, high-pitched scream shattered the tranquil scene of domesticity. As if they'd rehearsed it, Booth and Brennan dropped everything at once and ran through the house to the deck.

Christine stood at the railing, sobbing as she pointed out toward the ocean. Brennan reached her a split second ahead of Booth.

"Christine," she murmured softly as she knelt down and put her arm around the little girl. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"The waves!" she cried, still pointing toward the water. "The waves are tearing up my sandcastle!" She looked over her shoulder at Booth. "We have to go down and move it, Daddy! Before it's all gone!"

Memories tugged at Brennan's heart; she swallowed over the knot that formed in her throat and pressed a kiss into her daughter's dark hair. "Have I ever told you what happens to sandcastles after the sea takes them back?" she asked.

Sniffling back more tears, Christine turned to her mother and shook her head. "No," she answered, her chin wobbling pathetically.

Brennan pulled her closer. "When we leave a sandcastle on the beach," she said softly, "the waves come in at night and tear it down so an octopus can rebuild it at the bottom of the ocean."

"Really?" Her tears dried up as the child stared in fascination at her mother.

"Yes," Brennan nodded, holding her daughter's gaze. "Somewhere out there," she pointed toward the waves that stretched far into the horizon, "is an entire kingdom built of sandcastles left by little girls like you."

"There is?" Christine breathed out, transferring her attention to the water as if she could see down to the ocean floor. "Why?"

"Why?" Brennan asked, nonplussed.

Christine nodded her head quickly. "Why don't they build their own sandcastles? Why do they have to take ours?"

The list of things Temperance Brennan did not do well was small but near the top was create fanciful, imaginative stories out of thin air - at least, not ones that didn't involve murder and the discovery of decomposed human remains. She hesitated.

"Because there's a princess," Booth interjected into the moment.

Christine's head swiveled up to him. "A princess octopus?"

"Yea," Booth nodded. "A princess octopus. And she . . . she felt sorry for all the little girls whose hard work was erased by the waves so . . ." he shrugged, "so . . . she ordered every octopus in her kingdom to gather up all that sand and rebuild them."

"Wow," Christine said again, and turned back to watch as a wave knocked down a tower she'd so carefully constructed a few hours earlier. "Is she pretty?" she looked up at her father abruptly.

"Pretty?" Booth repeated, surprised, as he looked into her earnest little face.

"The princess octopus," she nodded. "Is she pretty?"

Over her head, Booth and Brennan grinned at each other. "Of course she is," Booth agreed immediately. "She's . . . pink."

Zach, who'd been listening quietly to this point, suddenly piped up. "There's no such thing as-"

Booth slapped a hand over the mouth of his brilliant 4-year old. "This one is, son," he said. "And the suckers on her tentacles?" he continued to Christine. "They sparkle."

Her eyes grew large. "Oooooh!" She put her face against the railing and stared intently out at the ocean. "What's her name?" she asked suddenly.

Brennan was prepared for that question. "Olivia," she answered promptly.

"Princess Olivia," Christine whispered, her busy imagination spinning with images of hundreds of tentacles building elaborate sandcastles at the bottom of the ocean. "Does she have a boyfriend?"

"A boyfriend?" Booth was not prepared for that one.

His daughter tutted. "She's a beautiful princess, Daddy," she said obviously. "She has to have a boyfriend."

"And she does," Booth agreed at once. "She does. She has a boyfriend. His name is . . . " He drew a blank.

"George." Every head turned toward the graveled voice coming from the back of the deck. "What?" Hank grunted. "An octopus can't be named George?"

Booth gave his grandfather a wide grin before turning it on his daughter. "George, honey. Princess Olivia's boyfriend is George."

Brennan felt a hand clasp her shoulder and followed it up to find Max's eyes, wet and shining, on her. She straightened.

"I didn't think you remembered," Max said softly, his voice thick with tears. He expression was almost grateful. "I thought you'd-" He couldn't finish the words.

"I remember," she nodded, and looked over her shoulder at the children soaking in the whimsical fantasy Booth continued to spin. "And now they will, too."

"I love you, honey." He pulled her into an embrace and when his cheek rested against hers, she felt the cool moisture of his tears.

"I love you, too, Dad."

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.

The stories continued when they gathered around the table for dinner, the old tales Brennan remembered her mother telling her of mermaids riding dolphins and sharks going to the dentist embellished now with new details about bridles made of seaweed and brave fish who swam into a shark's mouth to check for cavities and never came out again.

When the sun began to sink into the waters off the horizon, Max pointed toward it and told his fascinated grandson about a time in the past when men believed you could walk to the edge of the world and fall into nothing. Zach immediately had a hundred questions for his grandfather and while they fell into a spirited discussion, Hank continued to build an underwater world with Christine.

Booth and Brennan sat back and watched it all, the family they'd created with the elders remaining from the families that had created them, and they were happy.

Hours later, after the children had been tucked into bed and the old men had soon thereafter followed, the two of them carried one last drink out to watch the moonlight ripple into the horizon.

Standing behind her, Booth wrapped his arms around Brennan and pulled her close.

He dropped a light kiss on the curve of her neck and put his lips close to her ear.

"Let's not go back," he whispered.

And they laughed.

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_Well__, __damn__._

_Today__'__s __the __last __day __of __my __vacation __so __this __is __the __last __of __the __every day __posts__. __I__'__m __bummed__ - __not __just __because __I __have __to __go __back __to __work __tomorrow __but __because __coming __up __with __some __small __something __to __write __about __every __day __has __been __a __lot __of __fun__. __I __appreciate __you __keeping __me __company__, __so __to __speak__, __and __I __hope __you __enjoyed __reading __my __little __stories __as __much __as __I __enjoyed __writing __them__._

_Thanks __again__!_

___(The genesis of this story comes from_ The Story in the Tale, Chapter 15_.)_


	32. TMI

_*__**NOT NEW CONTENT!*  
Moved from Bits & Pieces**_

___(Everything below was previously posted, including pre- and post- ANs.)_

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_This __story __was __prompted __by __a __note __from __Alanna__. __Sort __of__. __Well__, __mostly__. __I__'__m __really __not __very __good __at __following __directions__. :-)_

_TMI__: __Too __Much __Information_

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The sound of a car horn blasting from the driveway added to the cacophony inside the house. Booth stood at the bottom of the steps and bellowed. "PARKER! James is here!"

"Five minutes!" came the answering yell from behind the boy's bedroom door.

"Pawkaw!" The dark haired toddler fastened into a high chair banged on the tray with his spoon and joined in the noise. "Pawkaw!"

Booth pulled a chair closer to his youngest son, picked up a bowl of scrambled eggs and began negotiating for the utensil in the tiny hands. "Remember when we used to have quiet mornings?" he asked as Brennan followed a pouting Christine into the kitchen.

"I want to wear the red shirt!" the little girl whined.

"Your school uniform requires a white blouse, Christine," Brennan said firmly. "We've discussed this before. Was that a rhetorical question?" she added to Booth over the loud complaining of their daughter. "My memory is excellent."

Before Booth could answer, the sound of heavy thumps intruded as Parker jumped down the stairs three at a time. He hurried into the kitchen, sliding the strap of his guitar case over one shoulder, and dropped his backpack onto the center island.

Zach immediately dodged the spoon Booth tried to fit into his mouth. "Pawkaw! Pawkaw!"

"Hey, little dude." Parker ruffled the already messy hair on his way to the refrigerator. He grabbed a bagel and a half-empty gallon of milk and straightened. "Don't forget I'm going to Jack and Angela's after school," he reminded his dad as he reached for his backpack. "Billy is here. He said I could come over and play him my new stuff this afternoon."

"Parker!" Christine demanded peevishly. "Don't you think I should wear the red shirt today?"

The teenager took one look at Brennan's raised eyebrow and shook his head. "I think you should wear what Temperance tells you to wear," he said immediately.

"Mom!"

Booth struggled futilely to capture the baby's attention again. "Okay. You taking that whole thing?" he nodded toward the milk container.

"There's another one in the fridge," Parker shrugged. "See you tonight."

"Hey!" Booth called before the boy disappeared. "The last time Angela's dad came to town, you were gone almost all night. Don't stay too long this afternoon. Two hours!" He instructed sternly.

Under a crop of unruly, sun-streaked curls, the tall 16-year old flashed a carbon-copy of his father's smile, one that would soon set a million hearts fluttering weakly. "Dad, if you had the chance to jam with Billy Gibbons, would two hours be enough for you?"

Booth grunted and resumed trying to coax Zach into eating breakfast. "Three hours," he amended, over the sound of a car's horn blaring again. "No more than four!" he yelled as Parker grabbed his phone from the counter and headed out.

.

.

Forty-five minutes later, Christine - still complaining about the white blouse beneath her sweater - climbed out of the car, responding to her mother's offer to walk her into school with a disgruntled sniff. They waited until she was safely inside then pulled away from the curb.

"Well," Booth sighed as he checked his mirrors. "This has been a morning, huh?" Behind him, Zach happily kicked his feet against the back of his father's seat.

A raucous electric guitar riff screeching from the pocket of Booth's jacket interrupted whatever reply she might have made. "What the-" He pulled the phone out and groaned. "Parker must have taken my phone instead of his this morning. Damn." He grimaced before slipping the black rectangle back into his jacket.

From the back of the car a little voice chirped, "Damn damn damn."

Brennan looked at Booth with a roll of her eyes as he held back laughter. "No, buddy, remember?" he said over his shoulder, "That's a bad word, Daddy shouldn't have said it."

"Would you mind dropping us off at the Jeffersonian before you exchange phones with Parker?" Brennan asked. "I know it's out of the way but-"

Booth shrugged. "I'm tempted to let him keep it. I could use the break."

"Damn damn damn," Zach trilled again.

"Hey, sport," Booth tried again to distract his son. "How about puppy? Can you say puppy?"

"Puppy puppy puppy," the little boy said obediently. "Damn damn damn."

Booth looked at Brennan with a smile. "Well, it was worth a-"

Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Booth, have you deleted your text messages recently?"

"No," he shook his head. "Why would I- Oh, shit." His look of horror matched hers. After a quick check of the rear-view mirror, he pulled a U-turn in the middle of the street and hurried back in the direction from which they'd come.

"Shit shit shit." Zach repeated his new word happily.

"It's probably fine," Booth ignored the little boy and nodded at Brennan. "Parker wouldn't read my text messages, right?" he shrugged hopefully. "I mean, he-"

She looked at her own phone when it rang. "It's you," she said pointedly before she answered.

"Brennan." Booth's eyes went back and forth between the road and her. "Hello, Parker . . . Yes, your father just noticed the switch . . . We are on our way to your school now . . . I'll tell him . . . Goodbye."

"Well?"

"He will be waiting for us outside," she relayed.

"Did he say anything about . . ." Booth's voice trailed off.

"No, he didn't," Brennan answered primly.

"Oh. Well, good," Booth nodded. "I'm sure he didn't . . . you know, Parker wouldn't snoop . . ."

They laughed at each other with matching expressions of slightly embarrassed humor as Booth pulled to a stop in front of the high school. Parker headed toward the car, the phone pinched between his thumb and index finger, held out at arm's length from his body.

"You guys are gross," he said as he dropped the phone through his father's lowered window and accepted the one Booth slapped into his palm. "And I'm never going in the laundry room again." Ears pink, he turned and marched back to school.

"Obviously, he read your text messages," Brennan murmured.

Booth cleared his throat and then laughed. "You think?"

.

.

* * *

_Updated __to __add __Alanna__'__s __original __prompt__ (__which __I __didn__'__t __think __to __include __before__ - __sorry__!):_

"Parker picks up Booth's phone and sees some Adults Only texts between B&B. He asks his dad and Booth has to explain them."

_I__'__m __much __better __at __the__ '__use __your __imagination__' __kind of__writing __than __I __am __writing __explicitly __so __the __story __above __is __what __you __got__!_

_Thanks __for __reading__!_


	33. Through the Looking Glass

**_*NOT NEW CONTENT!*  
Moved from Bits & Pieces_**

___(Everything below was previously posted, including pre- and post- ANs.)_

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_._

_._

_I __know__, __I __know__. __It__'__s __Bones __Day__, __baby__! __Who __wants __to __read __fanfiction __when __we__'__re __finally __getting __the __real __thing __back __tonight__? __But __I __can__'__t __help __it__. __I__'__m __excited __and __this __was __a __fun__, __silly __way __to __kill __some __time__. __Enjoy__!_

_._

_._

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.

"Move over."

"I was here first."

"Mom! Tell Zach to move!"

"He was sitting there first, Christine."

"But I called jinx!"

"I don't know what that means."

"Dad!"

"Zach, did she call jinx?"

"I didn't hear her."

"He didn't hear you, Chrissy."

"He's just saying that!"

"The sofa is quite long, Christine. Why is it important for you to sit on that particular end?"

"Because I'm already here."

"No, that's not why! Besides, why do _you_ have to sit there?"

"Because this side is closest to the table. I need somewhere to put my pizza."

"Pizza? Are we ordering pizza?"

"Buddy, we just had dinner. We're not ordering pizza."

"That was over an hour ago! Besides, pizza isn't real food, it's a snack."

"We are not-"

"Hey. Has it started yet?"

"Parker!"

"Parker, I called jinx and Zach won't get up!"

"Hello, boys."

"Hi, Dr. B. Mr. B.

"Hey, Parker . . . Scott. Hello, Travis."

"Dude, why does your dad always look at me like he wants to shoot me?"

"Because-"

"Hi, Travis!"

"Oh, right." _ahem _"Hi, Chris."

"I love your vocals on the new song, Travis. Parker should let you sing lead more often."

"Well . . ."

"Christine, you can sit beside me."

"Dad!"

"Christine."

"Fine."

"Did someone say pizza?"

"See? Parker wants pizza!"

"I could eat."

"I could warm you up something from dinner. I believe there's enough eggplant-"

"Pizza's fine."

"We don't want you to go to any trouble, Dr. B."

"Yea, Tempe. Pizza will be fine."

"Can we get wings, too?"

"Zach!"

"I could go for some wings."

"Dude . . . how long 'till your sister's legal?"

"I heard that."

"Dad, you're embarrassing me!"

"I was just kidding, Mr. B. I didn't mean-"

"I think we will get wings. And extra toppings on the pizza. And you know what, Travis? You can pay for all of it."

"What? Why? That's . . . I was just going to offer to do that exact thing, Mr. B. It's my treat."

"I thought it would be."

"Great! I'll call it in!"

"Ouch! Son, that was my foot."

"Sorry, Dad."

"There are five TVs in this house. Why are we all in this room?"

"Well . . ."

"Don't you want to watch it as a family, Dad?"

"I didn't mean-"

"Yea, Dad. Geez. It's not every day Tempe's book gets made into a TV series."

"I'm rather uncertain about watching it myself. The director refused to even consider most of my suggestions."

"I can't believe they've got Amy Morris as Kathy Reichs, Mom. She looks nothing like you - and she's blonde!"

"Well, there's nothing wrong with blondes. They're very . . . I can't believe it either, Bones. They should have cast a brunette there. Or a redhead, maybe because your hair . . . Have I told you how much I love your hair? I mean, you, of course. How much I love you . . ."

"Oh, God."

"Mom! Dad!"

"Dude, I think I saw tongue."

"Ewww, really? I'm going back in the kitchen - someone yell when Mom and Dad are through making out."

"We aren't making out."

"A healthy sexual relationship between parents-"

"MOM!"

"MOM!"

"HEY!"

"Dude, I love coming over here."

.

.

* * *

_We__'__re __back__, __baby__! __Happy __Bones __Day__!_


	34. Into the Spotlight

**_*NOT NEW CONTENT!*  
Moved from Bits & Pieces_**

**_(This is the last one. Swear to God. And I apologize (profusely/repeatedly/sincerely) for the spam!)_**

_(Everything below was previously posted, including pre- and post- ANs.)_

**_._**

* * *

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

_This __little __OS __fits __neatly __into __my __version __of __B__&__B__'__s __Happily __Ever __After__. __Enjoy__!_

_._

_._

* * *

_._

Booth was nudged out of his nap when the front door opened. "What?" He sat up immediately. "I'm awake, I was just -"

Parker shuffled by, his face a mask of blind terror. He dropped his backpack on the floor, slid the strap of his padded guitar case from his shoulder and let the instrument lean against the arm of the chair across from the sofa as he collapsed bonelessly and stared at his father.

"Parker?" Booth was somewhat alarmed at his oldest child's pallor. "What's wr-" Suddenly, the teen slapped one hand over his mouth and ran for the back door. "Parker!" Booth was on his feet instantly, barely one step behind as he raced after the boy. Once outside, Parker managed to get to the grass at the side of the patio before he was violently, spectacularly sick.

Booth waited until the heaving stopped then dragged a chair over and pushed him down. "Stay," he ordered. "I'll be right back." He hurried inside, grabbed a wet towel and a bottle of water and was back in seconds. He ran the damp cloth across Parker's mouth, folded it and smoothed the fresh side over his clammy forehead and cheeks. "Here," he handed over the water bottle. "Swish and spit." Parker followed instructions, leaning over so that he hit the grass again. "What hurts?" Booth asked, squatting down to get at eye level with his son. "What have you had to eat?"

Parker shook his head and then tilted it to rest against the back of the chair. "Nothing. It's not that . . ." He closed his eyes and, if possible, became even more pale. "Billy . . ."

Booth went cold. "Billy what?" he asked. "Parker, did you take something while you were with him? Did someone in the band offer you-"

Parker was already shaking his head. "No, Dad . . ." He lifted his head to look at his father, his panic visible. "He asked me to play with them." Seeing Booth's frown, he continued. "Saturday night." Understanding began to dawn in his father's eyes. "On stage, at the Verizon Center." He gulped. "At the Legends of Rock concert."

Booth's jaw dropped then he fumbled for the closest chair and collapsed into it. He and Parker stared at each other without speaking.

That's where Brennan found them when she came home ten minutes later. "Hello," she said when she opened the back door and allowed a squirming three-year old to race out ahead of her. He ran straight to the swing hanging from the tree, and threw himself face down over the seat as his feet propelled him forward. "Zach, sit in that swing properly!" she called out. "Christine is staying with Kennedy for a few more hours," she added as she approached Booth and Parker. "Her mother said . . ." Their stillness finally registered. "Is something wrong?"

"Ah . . ." Booth coughed, cleared his throat and tried again. "Parker . . ." He trailed off into silence as he looked at his son.

Parker swallowed hard. "Uh . . ." When his voice cracked, he tried again. "Billy . . . Angela's dad . . . he asked me to play with them Saturday." His eyes widened in fear. "At their concert."

"Congratulations!" Brennan smiled widely and touched her cheek to his. "That's wonderful news, Parker!"

He sent a terrified look toward his father. "No, it's not! I can't . . . I'm not ready . . . I can't!"

"Oh." Nonplussed, Brennan drew back and shot a glance at Booth. "Well then, why did he ask you?"

"What?" Two pairs of identical brown eyes frowned at her.

She shrugged. "Angela's father has been performing for several decades. It seems rather cruel of him to ask Parker to join them if he's not ready."

Booth looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. "Well, obviously, Billy does think he's . . ." His mouth snapped shut before he grinned at Parker. "You know," he shrugged, "she's got a point."

Parker's twitchy gaze went from one to the other. "But what if I freeze on stage?" he worried. "That place holds, like, fifty thousand people!"

Brennan shook her head. "Twenty-five thousand, at most. And it might not be sold out."

"It is." Both men answered at once.

"Oh." She shrugged casually. "Well - Zach!" Her attention was distracted by the little boy trying to make his way up the boards nailed to the outside of the tree. "You are not allowed to climb any higher without adult supervision!" Grudgingly, he began to inch back down.

"What do you do, Tempe?" Parker asked. "When you get stage fright?"

"I don't suffer from stage fright," she answered immediately. "I am an expert in my field and a very successful novelist. When I give lectures or readings, I am sure of my subject and the material I use." She lifted one shoulder. "Stage fright is a symptom of low self-confidence."

"Which obviously doesn't apply to you," Booth smirked.

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. "I know that I am good at what I do. And," she added, "if we're to judge by the invitation issued by Angela's father, Parker should also be confident of his skills."

Giving in to the pride that surged through him, Booth leaned forward and smacked Parker smartly on the knee. "Dude," he laughed. "You're going to be a rock star!"

.

.

Rebecca and her new husband arrived at the private suite midway through the second act. "Are we too late?" she yelled anxiously.

Booth shook his head. "They're next!" he spoke directly into her ear as the music on the stage in front of them swelled in volume.

"I'm so nervous!" she exclaimed to Brennan as Hodgins pressed a drink into her shaking hand. "This is terrifying!"

"Why is it terrifying for you?" Brennan asked. "Parker is the one performing."

Rebecca laughed as the music came to a close. "Just wait until it's Christine or Zach!" She looked around at the crowd of people in the suite. "They aren't here?" she asked curiously.

Angela stepped up beside Brennan. "We didn't think this was a kid-friendly event," she smiled. "I sweet-talked TJ into watching all four kids."

"I think it was the one hundred dollars we offered to pay him," Brennan pointed out. Before anyone could respond, a raucous cheer came from the crowd in the arena as the band was introduced.

"Oh my God!" Rebecca squealed. "There he is!" She stepped up beside Booth and grabbed his arm. "There he is, Seeley!" Parker stood toward the back of the stage, away from the spotlight on the two front men and the drummer but his parents only had eyes for him as music blasted through the arena. The audience screamed their appreciation during the two numbers that followed and when the familiar notes of a legendary hit began for the third, the noise shook the rafters. Near the end of the song, Billy slowly made his way back to Parker.

The arena's huge video boards caught the flash of the boy's smile as he and Billy faced each other and, feeding off the other's sound and style, inserted a long, wailing riff into the song. The crowd ate it up voraciously and each time Parker appeared on-screen, his face alive with the magic of creating the music he loved, half the girls in the audience - and some of the men - screamed out for him.

Rebecca reached for Booth's hand. "Look at him, Seeley." Her eyes filled as she watched the boy on stage. "Look at our little boy."

Booth let go of her fingers and put that arm around her shoulders instead. "Look at our little boy," he repeated, close to tears himself, and squeezed her close. He looked at Brennan and reached out with his other hand for hers. "You were right," he leaned over and spoke into her ear. "He was ready for this."

"He's very good," she agreed then leaned forward a bit and said it again, louder, to Rebecca.

Booth looked at both women and puffed out his chest proudly. "He gets that from me."

They laughed.

"I don't think so."

"He sooooo does not."

Billy stepped back and slowly stopped playing, allowing Parker the last minute for his own solo while he stepped up to his microphone again. "Parker Booth," he growled simply, as the last notes faded away. Over the sound of the crowd, Billy's voice came clearly. "Do your thing, kid," he drawled and jerked his head forward, toward the crowd. The camera caught the flash of shock on Parker's face as the band began to play a new song, one with a completely different sound than their own. Billy stepped away from the mic but his words were still audible. "C'mon, son."

"Oh, God," Rebecca whispered as her child slowly stepped up to center stage. She turned her face into her husband's shoulder. "I can't watch."

Booth's hand tightened around Brennan's. "Bones." His eyes were almost as panicked as Parker's had been.

_Rebel __without __a __cause  
Running __without __pause  
Don__'__t __think __about __the __cost  
If __you __stop__, __you__'__re __lost_

Parker closed his eyes and, right on cue, jumped into the song he'd written. His deep voice was edged with grit and when the men behind him joined in to back him up on the chorus, their sound merged as if they had always played together. It was a moment of magic, and the audience recognized it.

A group of women old enough to know better were seated directly below the Cantilever suite. "Who is he?" "What was his name again?" "Google him!" Their high pitched screaming could be heard clearly inside.

"That's my son!" Booth yelled out. "Parker Booth! That's my boy!" With a burst of joyful excitement, he picked up Brennan and twirled her in place. "He did it!" Booth yelled. "He did it!"

When his song ended, Rebecca ran to the front of the suite and leaned over the railing. Her scream mingled with the 25,000 other fans in the building. "Parker! Parker!"

As if he'd been born on stage, Parker nodded his head toward the exuberant crowd and stepped back. When he passed Billy, the legend slapped their palms together.

And a new star was born.

.

.

* * *

.

_I __love __the __idea __of __Parker __being __a __rock __star__. __I __don__'__t __care __if __it__'__s __silly __or __cheesy__, __I __love __it__. __So __there__._

_Thanks __for __reading__!_


	35. It's Not Easy Being Green

_**This one is new, I promise! **_

_**And again, I'm sorry sorry sorry sorry for the burst of spam alerts yesterday. Blame FFN! They should make it easier to move chapters around! (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)**_

_**.**_

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* * *

_**.**_

Booth looked up into the tree fort as he stepped out of the house. He could see her through the open walls, hunched against the largest of the branches that helped support the structure. Her head rested on her arms, which lay across her knees.

Thick boards nailed to the outside of the tree served as a ladder; two steps up and his head rose above the floor on which she sat.

"Hey." He spoke softly, just in case she hadn't heard the back door close or all the noise he'd deliberately made as he crossed the yard. "Okay if I come up? Brought you a juice box." Bribery was a time-honored parenting tool.

Her ponytail bobbed. He decided to take that as a yes and climbed inside.

He found a discarded cushion from an old set of lawn furniture, flipped it over to the somewhat cleaner underside and sat down. Without saying a word, he placed a bright green container of apple juice beside her foot.

And then he waited.

Only a few minutes passed before she raised her head. Careful not to look at Booth, Christine picked up the drink, silently removed and unwrapped the straw and poked it through the box.

She was lifting the drink to her mouth when Booth quietly cleared his throat.

She hesitated. "Thank you." She still didn't look at him.

"You're welcome."

She took one sip, then played with the straw. "Am I in trouble?"

He nodded. "Little bit."

She came alive.

"But look what he did, Daddy!" Christine retrieved a large yellow book from the floor on her other side and thrust it at him. "Look! He drew on every page!" It was her brand new workbook, the one she'd been given just yesterday on her first day of second grade. "Every one of them!"

Booth took it from her and quickly shuffled through; sure enough, from front to back it was covered with bright blue crayon. He was just about to set it down when his attention was caught by some of the scribblings. Curious, he took a closer look then flipped to the beginning and read through the whole volume. When he was done, he couldn't help smiling.

"Honey, he wasn't drawing." He let it fall open to a random page in the middle and held the book out for her. "He did all the work."

Using large, crudely drawn numbers and letters, Zach had completed every exercise on every sheet. Missing letters were filled in to spell words, incomplete drawings of geometric shapes were finished correctly, words were matched to illustrations and rows of simple, two-digit math problems were completed.

Christine gaped as she turned pages. "But," she looked up at her father, "he's a baby!"

There was more than a hint of pride in Booth's laugh. "Well, I guess he's a pretty smart baby."

Lessons in multiplying by twos and threes were at the very back. Zach had made his way through those and begun his own set of fours.

"But we're only on page 1! We haven't learned any of this yet! How does he know it already?" Dismay and confusion filled Christine's plaintive wail, not pride.

Booth had no answer for that. "I don't know, sweetheart. He just -"

"Am I dumb?" Lower lip quivering, she tossed the book aside.

"No. No." His answer was immediate as he scooted closer. "Of course you aren't, baby." He hugged her firmly into his side. "Remember all those gold stars you got last year? All those A-pluses? You are definitely not dumb. I promise."

She glared unhappily at the workbook before tilting her head to look up at Booth. "Is Zach smarter than me?"

He hesitated, suddenly aware of what hung in the balance. His daughter's self-esteem, the relationship between the siblings - the moment was a crossroads.

He squeezed her close again and rested his chin on the top of her head. "I think it's possible that Zach is going to be smarter than a lot of people," he said finally. He let her go so he could hunch down and see into her face. "But that's okay, you know? Look at mommy, she's smarter than I am."

One narrow shoulder lifted. "I know," Christine mumbled.

Booth frowned at her easy agreement. "Well, not about everything. Who built this tree house for you?" he pointed out before he bumped their shoulders together gently. "And remember when she let the car run out of gas?"

Christine's head snapped around. "She said the thing was broken."

"The gauge? Well, that's what she said." Booth pulled a face and leaned over to whisper. "But really, she just forgot to fill it up." He breathed a bit easier when he saw the tiny smile that curved her lips. "What I'm trying to say, honey, is there are a lot of ways to be smart. This," he tapped the workbook, "is just one of them." An image formed in his mind's eye, of Brennan sitting in the kitchen, the three-year old on her lap sobbing piteously because the older sister he adored had yelled so loudly at him. He made a snap decision.

"You know, being smart sometimes isn't much fun. The thing is," he worked to keep his tone casual, "sometimes really smart people, like your mom? And like Zach? Well, things are actually harder for them, than for us. I mean, people like you and me," he clarified when Christine looked at him curiously. "Because . . . well, because they're . . ."

"Weird?" she piped up helpfully.

"No, not weird." Booth chastised her with a stern look. "He's your brother and I don't want to hear you call him weird, not because he's smart. If he starts running around the house wearing peanut butter and jelly," he added with a smile, "then you can call him weird."

He was rewarded with a giggle, one that eased a bit of the pressure that had been building in his chest at the serious turn the conversation had taken.

"It's hard being different," he continued, "especially for kids." He thought of Brennan, isolated and alone as a child and ached with the fear of his brilliant son suffering the same fate. "If you're different because you're smart, well, the other kids might think you're showing off or -"

"Like Whitney!" Christine became animated as she remembered an old grievance. "Last year, in first grade, she always raised her hand and this one time, at recess, she pushed Kennedy down because Ms. Tucker called her to the blackboard!" The little girl was full of righteous indignation. "And Kennedy didn't even have her hand up!" Suddenly she grabbed for her workbook. "Whitney doesn't know this stuff yet, either. I'm going to take this to school tomorrow and I'm going to tell her that my little brother is smarter than she is and -"

"No, baby." Struggling to hold back his laughter, Booth tugged the book out of her hands. "Let's not put Zach in any playground cage matches just yet, okay? He's only three." Before she could ask what he meant, he squeezed her shoulder. "But that's what I mean, sort of. Now that we know your brother is this smart," he gave the cheerful yellow volume a wave, "it's up to you and me to make sure he doesn't turn into Whitney, that he's just a regular smart person. Can you help me do that?"

She took a minute to think it over and then nodded.

"Good." He captured her chin in his hands and looked sternly in her eyes. "The first thing you have to do is go inside and apologize. Even if he had scribbled all over it, you shouldn't have pushed him down."

"But -"

"No," Booth cut her off. "You're his favorite person in the whole world and you hurt his feelings."

"Okay." She acceded grudgingly.

"And tomorrow," Booth stood up, rolled up the workbook and brushed off his slacks, "I'll take you to school and explain to your teacher what happened. We'll get you a new one. Alright?"

"Yea."

He started down the rustic ladder. "Grab the juice box, honey, or you'll have ants everywhere."

Christine downed the rest of the contents in three noisy slurps then crumpled it in her fist before she followed her father out of the tree fort.

"Am I still in trouble?"

"Oh, yea."

"But -"

"Christine."

"Okay."

.

.

* * *

_Kermit the Frog is my favorite muppet.  
_

_Thanks for reading!_


	36. Family Outing

_This is both a test of my ability to write clear dialogue without modifying each sentence and your ability to follow along without having individual characters identified._

_Ready?_

_Go!_

_._

_._

* * *

_._

Mom, can we get -

No.

But you don't know what I wanted!

Here is my shopping list. Is what you were going to ask for on the list?

Dad?

C'mon, Bones, it's Oreos. You gotta let the kids have Oreos every so often or - or it will stunt their growth . . . No, it's true. I read it it on the internet.

You also read that a spacecraft landed in New Mexico.

There are aliens in New Mexico?

No.

(Yes, there are.)

Booth!

The capital of New Mexico is Sante Fe.

Very good, Zach. Don't make that face at your brother, Christine. Or that one. *sigh* Alright, you may have one package.

(Get the Double Stuffs.)

Do you know the ingredients of that filling?

No - and don't tell me.

.

.

.

.

Can we pick our own cereal this time?

What's wrong with this one? It has dried fruit and nuts and -

Tastes like dead leaves.

You aren't helping!

So can we?

I . . . Yes, you may. *Grimace* This was a very bad idea.

Told you. Tell you what, why don't I take the kids to produce? We'll take care of all of that why you get everything from the danger zone out here.

Now that is an excellent idea!

Yea, well, sometimes I get lucky.

I have another great idea . . . wanna hear it?

Hey! No kissing in the grocery story! That's gross!

I would really enjoy hearing more about that idea later tonight.

Count on it.

Checkout in fifteen minutes?

Mmmmmm.

Stop kissing! People are looking!

.

.

.

* * *

_Well? How'd we do?_

_Thanks for reading!_


	37. Truth or Dare

A chorus of laughter mixed with noises of disgust were faintly audible in the hallway outside the closed door. Inside the room, four teenage girls sat cross-legged on the bed, around a spinner they'd confiscated from a Twister game.

"Ewwwww!"  
"You're sick."  
"I can't believe you did that!"

Emma's hands lowered from her bright red face. "It wasn't that bad," she insisted bravely before she, too, chuckled. "But never again!"

"Okay, my turn." Madison pulled the spinner toward her. "Truth," she announced and then sent the lever flying with a flick of one red-tipped finger. When the arrow landed on green, Petra clapped.

"Yay, it's me!" She sat up straight and considered for a moment. "Oh!" Her eyes brightened. "I've got one." She leaned in toward the blonde. "Have you ever had sex, I mean, all the way?"

Madison shrugged in an attempt at worldliness. "Well, of course." She made a show of examining her nails while peeping up beneath her lashes to judge her friends' reactions.

Emma and Petra gasped and squealed dramatically. Christine watched Madison with narrowed eyes.

"Liar."

"What?" She was outraged. "How do you know I haven't -"

"If you'd really done it," Christine pointed out, "you'd have been on the phone bragging about it five minutes later."

"Fine." Madison gave in immediately. "But I did let Hao Lin get to third base," she insisted. "Twice."

"Define third base." Christine wasn't letting her off the hook just yet.

"French kissing," Petra piped up helpfully.

The other three looked at her in surprise. "What are you, a nun?" Madison asked scathingly, before she turned back to Christine. "Naked from the waist up, both of us. And," her voice lowered to a secretive whisper, "I let him touch me . . . down there." When she was satisfied with the titillated reactions, she sent a smug look to her left. "I bet you haven't gone that far, have you?"

Christine rolled her eyes. "I don't know, do you see bodies of dead boys lining the streets?" She stretched for the spinner as she grumbled, "Thanks to my dad, I'm the one who's on her way to becoming a nun. Okay, my turn -"

"Uh uh!" Madison laid her hand over the piece of plastic. "Pick first - truth or dare."

Christine scanned the group, stopping on Emma's still pink face. "Truth," she announced firmly.

"Chicken." Madison lifted her hand from the spinner.

Christine made a face and gave it a whirl. When it landed on red, she closed her eyes with a groan.

"I think that's me." Madison's smile showed all of her teeth.

"I'm not answering anything about Parker," Christine quickly asserted. "He's off-limits."

"Fine." Obviously disgruntled, her friend was silent for thirty seconds before her expression turned sly. "Alright . . ." One eyebrow rose; Christine steeled herself with a lift of her chin. "Have you ever caught your parents having sex?"

There were gasps from the other two girls. Christine flushed bright red, her hands balled into fists against her knees. "That's disgusting," she bit out. "Ask me something else."

"No," Madison retorted. "That's my question." Emma and Petra glanced nervously at each other as the tension built between their friends.

Lips pursed, Christine's jaw clamped shut as she remained obstinately silent.

Madison's eyes rounded, her smile widened in triumph. "You have! Oh my God, that's why you don't want to answer!" She leaned in avariciously. "How old were you? Do you remember it? Did you see anything? What were they doing?"

Christine shook her head and remained mute.

"You have to answer," Madison insisted hotly. "You picked Truth and that's my question."

"Fine." The word came out between clenched teeth. "Yes." She picked up the spinner and tossed it to the tiny brunette on her left. "Petra, your turn."

"Wait!" Madison threw out a hand before the other girl could play. "You're not done! What about the rest of it?"

"No." It was Christine's turn to smile in triumph. "You asked a question I could answer with a yes or a no. I answered. My turn is over. Petra," she looked to her left, "your turn."

"That's not fair!" Madison was furious.

Christine was smug. "Then perhaps you should have phrased your question differently."

The icy blue eyes narrowed to slits. "You sound just like your mother."

Christine crossed her arms and glared back. "Thank you."

"Um . . ." Petra's hand hovered over the spinner. "Should . . . I . . . go now?"

"YES!" The response shot from both Christine and Madison, who were now studiously avoiding looking at each other.

"Okay!" she said brightly, before glancing at Emma, who shrugged helplessly. "Well, uh . . . dare!"

The black arrow flew around the brightly colored plastic square - and landed on red.

Emma's shoulders slumped with fatalistic acceptance.  
Petra swallowed nervously.  
Christine rolled her eyes in resignation.

Madison smiled.

"You . . ." Long red fingernails drummed against her calf. "You have to kiss Zach." Before the shocked reactions had faded, she had added a caveat. "With tongue."

That was too much for Christine. "He's ten, Madison!"

"Fine." She gave in grudgingly and sneered at the embarrassed girl across from her. "You don't have to go to third base." The color in Petra's cheeks deepened. "But you have to kiss him on the lips."

"Okay. I'm not scared!" Petra insisted, despite an expression that suggested otherwise. "Now?" At Madison's nod, she unfolded slowly from her seated position on the bed.

Christine gave Madison a shove before getting to her feet. "You can be a real bitch sometimes."

She stood up and brushed at her jeans. "You would know!"

The four of them filed quietly out into the hallway. Petra descended the stairs slowly, stopping on every third step to glance back at her friends.

Christine bumped Madison none-too-gently into the bannister. "I can't believe you're making her do this," she muttered.

"Oh, unbunch your panties." Staying several risers above Petra, Madison crept down the stairs until she could see into the family room. "It's probably the only kiss either one of them will get until they're 30."

Seated on the sofa, one arm stretched behind Brennan, feet propped up on the coffee table, Booth became aware of movement in his peripheral vision. He turned his head as the waifish teen, whose eyes always seemed too large for her face, took halting steps into the room.

"You girls need something?"

She shook her head. "mmmm."

Another slow step forward drew Booth's attention again.

"You sure?"

Petra nodded. "mmmm."

One more step brought her alongside the chair where Zach sat, his attention on the movie that filled the TV screen.

"Everybody else asleep?" Booth's voice was hopeful. From his place on the sofa, he couldn't see the three girls lined up on the stairs, watching in fascinated horror as the scene played out.

She shook her head again. "mmmm."

A half-step more and the teenager was standing at Zach's elbow. By now, Brennan's attention was caught, and she looked up from the tablet on which she'd been reading. "Is something -"

Without warning Petra leaned over and pressed a quick, smacking kiss on Zach's mouth, then raced screaming back to the stairs. Her outburst joined the loud, squealing laughter from the other girls, and mixed with the drumming thud of four sets of feet as they ran back up to Christine's room. The slamming of her door cut off all but a faint echo of the noise.

Downstairs, Zach immediately scrambled up from the chair and sped across the room to take refuge behind the sofa where his parents sat.

In one movement, Booth and Brennan leaned forward and looked toward the stairs and then at each other.

"What was that?"

Booth shrugged. "I don't know but," amusement glinted in his eyes as he looked back over his shoulder at his son, "I think Zach just got his first kiss."

Zach immediately raised one hand and scrubbed at his mouth. Keeping a wary eye on the staircase, he stepped out from behind the sofa and wedged himself between his father and the arm of the sofa.

"Can I take a sleeping bag in your room tonight?"

Booth followed his gaze, then laughed and draped an arm over the narrow shoulders. "Maybe that's a good idea."

.

.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	38. Off To the Races

"Wanna do it again?"

Christine hesitated, her gaze moving nervously to the door of the playroom. "I don't know . . . what if my daddy comes in? Or yours?"

"We're just playing," Michael shrugged. "Besides, they like it." He looked toward the middle of the room where his younger brother William played with Zach. The two babies, only a few weeks apart in age and neither one as yet two years old, communicated with each other in some unintelligible mix of actual words and gibberish that only they understood. "One more time?" He tempted Christine with a wickedly mischievous grin.

She gave in almost immediately. "One more time."

They ran to their brothers and, lifting the little boys barely high enough for their small feet to clear the floor, carried them to the opposite end of the room before rushing back again.

"Come on, Zach! Look, I've got your sippy cup! Want your sippy? Zach! Zach!" Christine waved the bright green bottle in the air in a futile attempt to capture her brother's attention.

"William! William! Come get the Legos! See the Legos? Want some ice cream? Look! William!" Michael's attempt was only slightly more successful.

The two babies finally toddled in the direction of their siblings.

.

.

.

"Pass interference! Pass interference!" Booth jumped up from the sofa yelling. "What are you, blind! Come on!" When the game cut to commercial, he sank down again, still muttering. "Worst officiated game I've ever seen. Ever!"

"It's a conspiracy, man." Hodgins shook his head. "The league clearly wants Green Bay in the playoffs and the refs are in on it. It's all about ratings and money."

Booth left that comment untouched.

After draining the last of the liquid from the bottle in his hand, Hodgins looked at his companion. "I'm going to get another beer, want one?"

Booth raised his own bottle, checked the level and shook his head. "Nah, I'm good." The commercial on TV showed a happy family singing along to the radio in a brand new car; Booth frowned and looked over his shoulder toward the rear of the house. "The kids are being kind of quiet, aren't they?"

Having just stood up, Hodgins paused on his way to the kitchen and checked his watch. "Yea, actually. William doesn't normally sleep this long, come to think of it."

"Neither does Zach." Booth pushed up from the sofa again and followed Hodgins down the hall.

Christine's voice was audible even before the two men reached the playroom. "No fair! Zach just wants to play! Let's do it again!"

They opened the door to see William and Zach in the middle of the room and Michael and Christine at the other end, frantically waving toys in the air. The two older children froze immediately.

Hodgins cast a sweeping, suspicious glance over the scene. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Michael hid the small fire truck he held behind his back.

"That was a pretty quick nothing, especially since this definitely looks like something." The babies, meanwhile, lurched in the direction of their fathers, jabbering nonsense and holding up their arms.

"Were you two racing the babies?" Booth scooped up Zach and stared in disbelief at Christine.

Christine dropped her chin. "They like it," she mumbled.

He twisted away from the fingers Zach tried to stick in his mouth. "No, they don't! Your brother is not a toy!"

Hodgins struggled to maintain a hold on William, who was stretching out toward Zach in an attempt to grab the bright tower of preschool Legos the other boy held. "Who won?" When Booth's head swiveled around in surprise, he shrugged. "Well, they've already done it, I'm just curious . . ."

"William, three times in a row!" Michael answered immediately, and then pulled a face at Christine.

Hodgins laughed and pressed a kiss into the curly head beneath his chin. "That's my boy!"

"Zach kept stopping to play," Christine pouted.

Booth chuckled reluctantly and smiled down at his son. "Awww, did you get distracted, sport?"

There was a beat of silence, then Jack leaned in close to the man beside him. "You know," he murmured quietly, "there are no toys in the kitchen . . ."

Booth looked shocked. "Are you nuts?" he hissed. "We can't -" Zach patted his father's cheeks and planted an open, wet kiss on his mouth. "They seem to be fine . . ." His lips twitched a moment before his grin matched Hodgins'. "Maybe just once . . ."

Fifteen minutes later, relaxed and fresh from an afternoon at the spa, Angela and Brennan returned to be greeted first by the noisy broadcast of a football game reverberating loudly in the empty living room. Curious at the absence of husbands and children, they followed the faint echo of laughter through the house to the kitchen.

Their appearance in the doorway went unnoticed long enough to make what was happening inside clear. Seated on the floor, Hodgins looked up to see Angela's stunned expression and quickly elbowed Booth in the ribs. Both men scrambled to their feet.

"We can explain . . ."

.

.

.

* * *

AN: I'm probably going to regret this but I'm going to do it anyway. If you'll pardon me a moment, I need to beg a moment of your indulgence. Normally I wouldn't respond to certain chatter because I dislike sounding defensive but this time I'm going to. And for the record, nothing is really private on the internet.

"Hi!" I'm MJ and I write 'fluff.' Far from being insulted at the term, I'm actually quite proud of it. Occasionally I attempt something more dramatic but I would rather be silly and funny. Or, at least, try to be. Humor is subjective. My funny may not be yours.

Yes, my Booth/Brennan Family is too good to be true. They are fictional, after all. Parker, Christine and Zach are beautiful, smart and talented. (Also yes, I also know Zack Addy spelled his name with a 'k.'). Booth and Brennan are still gorgeous and crazy about each other, and they all live charmed lives. When challenges do arise (and it's my opinion that raising a gifted child is as difficult in its own way as raising one with special needs), Booth and Brennan usually say and do the right thing because I have time to decide how they're going to handle it before I write the OS that deals with it. Booth and Brennan are perfect parents with perfect children living in the perfect family - at least within the scope of my own limitations and mistakes (and that's a pretty broad scope).

I fell in love with "Bones" and with Booth and Brennan the very first time I saw the two of them look at each other across the length of a prison parking lot lit by the glow of a Christmas tree plugged into a car battery. That one moment, their faces and their expressions - that was magic, at least for me. I immediately believed in their fairy tale, and instantly wanted that handsome man and that beautiful woman to have a happy ever after.

I believe HH&Co want a happy ending, too, and that eventually, they'll get there. When they do, I'll be watching. One day, I might even watch the last half-dozen episodes of S8. That's their real life (so to speak), and I'm under no illusions that what I'm doing in my corner of the sandbox is anything other than an electronic way of playing with paper dolls.

The real world is a shitty place. If you don't believe me, turn on the news. Awful things happen to really good people. Horrible people never seem to meet karma. When I read, I want to see a different world. When I write, I want to write about a different world. Reality isn't going anywhere but for a few minutes, I can push it aside and pretend otherwise.

So, I write funny. I write silly. Yes, I write fluff, and yes, I write a Booth/Brennan Family that is too good to be true. I'm proud of it, and quite frankly, I'm proud of them. I love my B&B Family.

I've only been writing fanfic for a couple of years but if I have a reputation at all, I hope it's such that when you see an alert from me you expect to read something that will make you laugh or smile. It's my choice not to write many gritty, realistic, heart-wrenching stories. It's my choice to (mostly) stick with the funny and with my unrealistic, perfect little B&B family.

Yes, I do write fluff. I'm proud of it.

And as Forrest Gump so eloquently said, "That's all I have to say about that."

Thanks for reading. (The OS and this snitty AN.) I'm done now.


	39. Meet the Parents

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I don't understand. It's a reasonable suggestion." Brennan followed Booth around the dining room table, arranging silverware beside the dinner plates he was setting carefully in place. Squat, fat ivory candles glimmered in the center of the polished surface, around a basket of colorful autumn flowers. "After all, we would both benefit -"

"It was one time! I'm not - No! I don't want to talk about it!"

"But -"

"Hey!" A perfunctory knock at the front door was followed by Christine's cheerful greeting as she entered the house. Andrew came in just behind her, holding an infant carrier from which a tiny pair of feet wiggled in pink socks patterned with smiling cartoon monkey faces.

"Mmmm, something smells good, Tempe!"

"Thank you, Andrew." Her smile was brief before she turned back to Booth. "Can we discuss it after dinner?"

"No."

"Discuss what?" Christine asked curiously. "What's going on?" She slipped the strap of the diaper bag she carried off her shoulder and dropped the heavy burden next to the sideboard, then picked up the pitcher of water on the table and, getting in line behind Brennan, started filling glasses.

"I merely mentioned Viagra or -"

"Bones!"

"Oh, God." Christine almost dropped the pitcher. "No. No, Mom, you don't want to talk about that!"

"Yes, I do," Brennan insisted. "You are in your 60s, Booth, it's perfectly natural for men your age -"

Unnoticed, Andrew bent over the carrier and spent twice as much time as necessary removing the baby from the 3-point harness. His shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"One time!" Booth stuck a finger close to Brennan's nose. "It was one time! That doesn't mean I need -"

"I don't feel inadequate because we sometimes need to use additional lubricant. The body changes as we grow older, it's -"

"Oh my God! Stop!" Comically horrified, Christine slammed the pitcher back on the table, then stuck her fingers in her ears. "Lalalalalalalala."

Brennan eyed her daughter sternly. "You are being very childish. Your father and I happen to enjoy -"

"MOM!"

Another knock on the front door came just before it opened again, this time for Zach who held it propped open with a hand raised high enough to allow his petite wife to duck beneath his arm. "I have dessert," she called out, lifting the large, flat container she held. "I baked two, so Dad can have the extra -"

"I'm done talking about this," Booth stated firmly. Hands empty of plates, he planted them on his hips and glared at Brennan. "Understand? The subject is closed."

Zach peeled off his jacket and tossed it over a chair. "What subject is closed?"

"No!" Christine yelled.

Brennan crossed her arms and shrugged with ill temper. "I simply suggested to your father that he might want to consider talking to his doctor about a prescription for Viagra and -"

"Bones!"

"Mom!"

Zach swept a clinical eye over his father. "How's your heart?"

Christine slapped at her brother's arm. "Don't encourage this conversation!"

He brushed her off. "If he's going to take ED meds he needs a full workup first. You don't want him having a heart attack while he and Mom are having sex, do you?"

"Stop it! Why are you making me think about that?!"

Standing outside the circle of the usual family ruckus, Andrew and Petra bounced and jabbered to the now fussy baby girl and tried to reign in the urge to laugh at all of them.

"My heart is fine!"

"How about your blood pressure?" Zach detached the phone from his belt.

"His blood pressure is a little high," Brennan inserted.

"My blood pressure is fine!" Booth immediately argued.

"You look a little red," Brennan commented.

"I do now!"

"Hmm." Zach scrolled through his calendar. "I have some time Wednesday afternoon. Why don't you come in about 2:00?" He looked up. "Have you had a prostate exam this year?"

Booth backed away. "You aren't -"

"No, of course not." Zach shook his head. "You need a specialist. I can get you the names of a couple of excellent urologists -"

Unnoticed, the front door opened a third time. Parker stepped into the foyer and with him, a tall, slender blonde. He tilted his head toward the noise coming from the dining room, which now included the full-throated wailing of an unhappy infant, and nodded with satisfaction.

"Josie," he grinned and waved a hand toward the source of the cacophony, "meet the family."

With a smooth, graceful gesture, Jocelyn pushed the sunglasses she wore up into the thick, golden sweep of her hair, revealing the slash of high, Slavic cheekbones and exotic, pale green eyes famous for an insurance policy rumoured to be worth eight figures.

"No one is touching my prostate!" The loud statement reverberated through one brief moment of quiet.

The green eyes danced with amusement as she smiled up at the handsome man at her side. "Is this normal for your family?"

Parker glanced at the dining room as the decibel level rose again, then threw her a cocky grin. "Oh, we aren't normal," he winked. "We're extraordinary." With that, he grabbed her hand and joined the fray.

"Hey," he called out loudly, capturing everyone's attention as he and Josie were finally noticed. "That baby needs her Uncle Parker. Hand her over!"

.

.

* * *

_I refuse to believe the Booth/Brennan family could be anything but extraordinary. ;-)_

_But, unfortunately, I am just a plain ol' working girl (not that kind) and my vacation is over. Dammit. Just when I was getting really good at the whole "not having to work" thing, too. Boooooo!  
_

_Thanks for keeping me company and for being so nice about the spamming of alerts. I really enjoy these mini-fanfic marathon bursts. I feel very productive!_

_Thanks for reading!_


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